


Narcissus Gaze

by blakesparkles



Series: put me back together (however you want) [1]
Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst, Anxiety, Blow Jobs, Captivity, Doppelganger, Dry Humping, Dubious Consent, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Falling In Love, Fluff, Hand Jobs, Hurt/Comfort, Idiots in Love, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, In a way, Jack cries a lot, Jack's confused, Kidnapping, M/M, Masturbation, Multiple Orgasms, Nightmares, Nudity, Panic Attacks, Possessive Behavior, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Rimming, Rough Sex, Sexual Content, Sharing a Bed, Stockholm Syndrome, Touch-Starved, Violence, Vulnerability, criminal life, i promise things will be okay, lots of staring, not exactly between them...? trust me, tied-up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-20
Updated: 2018-01-28
Packaged: 2019-02-17 15:45:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 58,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13080129
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blakesparkles/pseuds/blakesparkles
Summary: The Irishman swallows, feeling like he’s staring in a mirror, and remains quiet. He can faintly see the man’s hair color, a dark shade of green that matches his eyes, but all the rest Jack knows fairly well. This can’t be real. It’s impossible. It’s fucking impossible.-Title credit belongs toMargaretKire





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Huge thanks for my friend [Maggie!](http://archiveofourown.org/users/MargaretKire/pseuds/MargaretKire)  
> Thanks for always editing my stories and giving me feedback/support. Shoutout to my [Gih](http://plutonic-5.tumblr.com)  
> as well for freaking out with me over this ship and sharing ideas!!
> 
> I'm really excited to start this story and I've been writing non-stop. I hope you all enjoy this little new universe! ♥

Jack knits his eyebrows.

 

He feels a cold surface beneath him and his cheek is pressed against a wall uncomfortably. The Irishman frowns even more, eyes closed and neck hurting from this awkward position that he’s in. A groan leaves Jack’s lips and his head throbs when he tries to get up, only to fail miserably when something pulls him back down. The Irishman opens his eyes to gather his bearings and finds himself in a dim bedroom that he doesn’t recognize at all.

 

For a brief moment, he thinks that after getting a few drinks at the bar close to his home, he somehow managed to crash the night with someone else before passing out. But then, he finally remembers something, or someone, hitting him in the back of his head and that doesn’t sync well in his mind. Jack looks down at his hands only to find them tied up with a rope that connects down to his feet, so he literally can’t get up. The brown-haired man feels his heart skip to his throat, immediately panicking over his situation and his breathing becomes sharper and louder.

 

Jack’s eyes widen when the bedroom door creaks open and when he sees a shadowy figure staring at him, he instinctively presses himself against the wall. The brown-haired man can’t bring himself to speak, words caught up in his throat that hold a scream, and he trembles when the figure steps inside the room. The Irishman’s pupils open wide due to his fright and he’s hyperfocused on every move that happens before him. The man walks closer and, by the time he crouches in front of the tied-up man, Jack’s hyperventilating.

 

There’s a long eerie silence while the Irishman stares at the man, trying to make out what he looks like only by the light coming from the open door. Jack’s chest hurts from breathing so fast and his throat is closing. The man tilts his head and the lighting touches the figure’s face a little more, so the brown-haired man freezes at the sight. The person licks his lips before talking and Jack thinks his eyes are betraying him.

 

“I’ve been…” a familiar voice whispers in the room. “I’ve been watching you...”

 

The Irishman swallows, feeling like he’s staring in a mirror, and remains quiet. He can faintly see the man’s hair color, a dark shade of green that matches his eyes, but all the rest Jack knows fairly well. This can’t be real. It’s impossible. It’s fucking _impossible._

 

“W-Who…” Jack speaks through his teeth. “W-Who the _fuck_ are y-you?!”

 

“Anti,” the green-haired man hums. “And you’re Jack. I guess I should say it’s nice to meet you properly.”

 

“L-Let me go…” the tied-up man continues, gathering up rage in his chest. “What is t-this?! W-Where am I? Is this some kind of a s-sick jok-”

 

Jack jolts back when there’s a sharp pain on his cheek followed by a sting, and the Irishman wheezes when he sees the man - Anti - pointing a small pocket knife at him. The brown-haired man feels a thin line of blood streaming down from the cut on his skin and there’s fear in his heart. Anti clicks his tongue and shakes his head, sighing. Jack looks down and takes deep shaky breaths.

 

“I’m gonna be very clear with you, okay? Straight to the point,” the green-haired man hisses. “You’re my double and I meant to kill you but things have changed, alright? So now you’re going to stay in this fucking room because I want to. It’s very very simple. Do you understand?”

 

“Are you a fucking psychopath?! I w-want you to let me go right now!” Jack shouts but Anti cuts him again on the other side of his face, making him groan.

 

Anti sighs and rolls his eyes before getting up and Jack screams for him to set him free, but in vain. The only thing that the green-haired man does is to gag him while murmuring for Jack to shut his mouth. The Irishman’s grunts are muffled and the rope around his hands seems to tighten the more he moves hysterically. When Anti finally leaves and the brown-haired man hears the lock of the door clicking, he stops squirming and the quietness of it all hits him like a punch in the guts.

 

He’s been kidnapped.

 

Jack’s been kidnapped and it’s awfully scary when he wonders if someone will actually notice that he’s missing. The Irishman has recently been fired from a shitty job and all he does is stay inside his own apartment playing video games while self-loathing. The last time he got in contact with his family was five years ago and something tells him that it’ll continue that way. Jack’s not close to anyone, not even his neighbours. The brown-haired man scrunches up his face, feeling the corner of his eyes burning, and he begins to cry in the dark.

 

There’s also the fact that this Anti guy knows Jack’s name and apparently is a total creep, watching him for who knows how long. Shit. What the fuck did he mean about _double?_ Is that why they look so alike? And Anti was supposed to kill him, for fuck sakes! The Irishman lets out a muffled sob, shoulders shaking against the cold wall, feeling more confused and alone than ever. He doesn’t even want to think what this man can do to him. Jack can’t tell which hour of the day it is and the curtains are completely shut, but he fights to stay awake nonetheless.

 

It’s the sound of the lock that brings him back to reality and he straightens his body, shining blue eyes already searching for the man in the room. Anti doesn’t spare him a glance and just walks normally between heavy huffs, cracking his neck. He opens another door from across the room and Jack sees that it’s a bathroom. The artificial lights help him to see the man better and he scans him up and down, watching Anti wash his face and grunt by himself.

 

He’s wearing all black and he looks like he’s a couple of inches taller than the brown-haired man. More muscular and pale as well. When Anti looks in the bathroom mirror, they lock their gaze. Emerald meeting sapphire. The Irishman glares, hating how the fabric is starting to soak in his mouth and how much his face must be puffy from crying. The man’s expression is unreadable and he simply walks back to the bedroom, turning the lights on without any warning. Jack flinches, blinking his eyes several times to adjust them after being in the dark for so many hours.

 

The bastard continues to say nothing and lies down in the large bed, taking a pack of cigarettes from his pocket and placing one between his lips. Jack frowns even more, not believing that this asshole is going to smoke in a closed off room. Anti has an actual box of matches, small enough to carry around, and he lights up the cigarette. The brown-haired man scrunches up his nose and looks down at his hands, already feeling sore from being in this position.

 

There are two sides of Jack that seem to be constantly fighting. He wants to be snarky and angry, wanting to ask if this is what they’ll be doing for the rest of their lives and, if so, it’ll be utterly boring. What a great kidnapper. But he also wants to stay low and accept this new fate while he cries non-stop, just following orders so he won’t die. The first one will certainly get him murdered faster and the last one gets him stuck in this situation forever. Jack sighs.

 

“Relax,” Anti speaks and smokes leaves his lips. “For fuck sakes, I can _feel_ you thinking.”

 

The Irishman’s eyebrow twitches and he tries shouting _Relax?!_ but the word is wrapped up by the gag. He starts angrily muffling at the man, calling him names and letting that first side of him take over. Anti pinches the end of his nose and sits up to look at Jack properly. That small movement makes him shut up and remember the precarious situation he’s in. Jack has no control in this. He’s at this man’s mercy. The Irishman curses once more when Anti gets up to sit in front of him.

 

From this close and with proper light, Jack can see light freckles on Anti’s face. He stares at the man’s gauges and the dark circles under his eyes. There’s a faint scar on his neck, a soft white line that sends shivers down the Irishman’s spine, and puffs of smoke touch their faces. They stare in silence, Anti cross-legged and Jack with his legs up to his chest, hands between his thighs. The rope’s itching his skin and he takes deep breaths, not wanting to panic so soon.

 

“You’ve been crying,” Anti murmurs and points at Jack’s puffy red eyes with his chin.

 

The Irishman blinks and lets his shoulders fall, suddenly feeling hopeless and sorrowful. How the fuck did this happen? This is fucking insane and Jack is literally no one! Why him?! Having the green-haired man looking at Jack like he’s an animal at the zoo makes him feel an emptiness in his heart. The brown-haired man chooses to look away, holding in the urge to cry again and just wanting to hide.

 

Anti hums and holds the cigarette between two fingers, scratching his forehead with his other hand as if he’s in deep thought as well. He swears under his breath and Jack frowns at his attitude, wondering why he’d be worried.

 

“I’m going to get into trouble for that…” the green-haired man chuckles and the Irishman looks up when hearing the high pitched laughter. It’s uneasy and not welcome.

 

Jack can’t help but let more tears fall when Anti continues to look at him and he doesn’t know how long they stay like that, but it certainly feels like an eternity to the tied-up man. He tries making himself impossibly smaller against that corner of the wall and that angry side of him fades away under Anti’s unreadable expression. Jack tenses up when the green-haired man makes a movement to get up and waits for the worst to happen, to be beaten, to be cut again, to be… to be…

 

A choked sob leaves Jack’s mouth when Anti ignores him and leaves the room once more. There’s a small sense of relief that nothing happened since the cuts on his cheeks, but there’s always the possibility for that to change. Jack’s chest is hurting and he tries adjusting himself on the floor because his ass is starting to feel numb. The brown-haired man’s confused and full of fear for what is yet to come. He still doesn’t know how much time has passed and if someone will indeed not notice his disappearance.

 

Jack sniffs and his eyelids are betraying him, heavy and sand-like. The sudden distress he’s been in drained all his energy and, despite fighting himself to stay wide awake, Jack succumbs and falls asleep on the cold floor, temple pressed against the wall and heart in his throat.

 

✁ ✂ ✃

 

The Irishman stirs himself awake and slowly opens his eyes, already hoping that everything has been just a terrible dream, only to see that man in the doorway, staring at him. Jack gasps and tries gulping, but his mouth is dry by this point. He straightens himself and shakes his head, thinking he’s an idiot for falling asleep so easily when there’s a psychopath in front of him. Jack blinks hard enough until he sees multiple colorful dots and he wants to clean his eyes. The Irishman glares at Anti, who’s been caught staring.

 

The green-haired man has a long black jacket over his outfit this time and it looks like he just came back from somewhere. There are a few white dots over the jacket that are beginning to melt and his cheeks are slightly red, hair slightly damp. Jack realizes that it must be snowing outside and it somehow saddens him that he’s stuck with this man, in this room, with no way to escape and see snow again.

 

It hurts to swallow and his body’s beginning to crave simple needs, bladder full and stomach empty. Jack grunts to call the man’s attention, wanting to speak, but Anti just shakes his head. The Irishman scowls, annoyed, and squirms his arms to try pointing at the bathroom door. Anti gives a long look at the door and for fuck sakes, all this man does is stare at things intently. Jack suppresses the urge to roll his eyes when the green-haired man whispers an _Oh._

 

Anti walks towards Jack and before he does anything about the rope, he slowly moves his long jacket just enough for the tied-up man to see a gun and, on the other side, a knife.

 

“Let’s all be smart about this,” he murmurs. “You’re not stupid, are you, Jack?”

 

The Irishman inhales and shakes his head as an answer.

 

“Good,” Anti nods and crouches so he can untie his feet. “I’ll leave your hands like that and you better not try anything funny. If you do, it’ll not end well for both of us. Get it?”

 

Jack glares but nods back.

 

Anti hoists him by his armpits and Jack pushes himself up with sore, wobbly, legs. The Irishman’s heart speeds up for standing so close to that man and he’s indeed a couple of inches taller than Jack. Anti looks at him, squinting his eyes as if something will happen, but the brown-haired man is not going to do anything stupid without planning ahead. He just wants to fucking pee. Jack rolls his eyes this time, wanting to pass all these thoughts to Anti, and the green-haired man huffs.

 

He holds Jack by the upper arm, pulling him towards the bathroom, and the Irishman trips a couple of times. The world swims and he takes deep breaths, focusing on the toilet in front of him. Jack looks down at his pants and then at his tied-up hands, cursing muffled by the gag. Anti doesn’t even wait for any kind of consent and just straight up unzips Jack’s jeans. The Irishman freaks out internally and he closes his eyes, counting to ten so he won’t have another panic attack. It’s okay, it’s okay. At least the man didn’t go further than that. It’s fine.

 

Jack manages to pull his dick out but concentrating on actually peeing while there’s a psychopath behind him, carrying a gun and a knife, certainly makes things more difficult. He sighs and, after a moment, empties his bladder. This time, Jack prepares himself mentally for Anti to zip his pants back up, and he washes his hands, refusing to look at the mirror. The brown-haired man doesn’t want to see his embarrassed face, thank you very much.

 

Leaving the bathroom, Jack’s eyes wistfully wander towards the bed that looks so soft and warm. Anything must be better than this cold hard floor, really. Anti shoves him back down and Jack scowls while the man ties his feet up again, connecting the rope to the ones on his wrists. The Irishman’s hunger is more present now and his throat is begging for water, but Jack refuses to ask anything more. Peeing like that is already humiliating enough.

 

Jack can feel Anti’s breath hitting his cheeks softly and it smells like mint with a hint of tobacco underneath. It’s not terrible but Jack doesn’t know why he thinks that, it’s not like he cares. Anti checks the gag around the Irishman’s face, tightening it on the back of his head and making Jack groan. The green-haired man glances at him briefly and smirks before leaving once again, turning off the lights and leaving the brown-haired man alone in the cold. Jack’s seriously beginning to worry about that, his long-sleeved shirt is too thin and, with this weather coming in, it’ll be worse to deal with. It’s not like Anti will try to make everything easier for Jack and make him feel comfortable.

 

At some point, Jack manages to lie down on the floor. Well, he swings to the left and falls on his shoulder ungraciously, but he’s lying down nonetheless. The Irishman keeps his back against the wall, refusing to turn around in case that maniac shows up and tries something. Jack sighs, curling up in a fetal position, and praying for someone to rescue him. Anyone.

 

His stomach growls, demanding food and water. Jack cries some more and tries to untie the knots in vain, he can’t even bite them because of the gag and his legs can only bend so much. The hours blend and the Irishman loses track of time completely, so everything feels incredibly slow. It’s boredom mixed with sweat, tears and dread. Anxiety crawling under his skin. Jack dozes off every now and then, catching himself before falling into a deep sleep and gasping in the dark.

 

Anti doesn’t show up for what seems like forever and It comes to a point where Jack fears that he won’t be coming back at all. For a brief and foggy moment of his mind, the Irishman thinks he’ll die like this in this shitty hellhole. If it’s not from the cold, it’ll be from starvation. Perhaps that man changed his mind about not killing him and actually chose to torture him with a slow death. Jack lets out a weak chuckle from his dry lips. Of course this is how he’ll die, stupidly. It fits him.

 

He wants to go to the bathroom again but tries to forget by shutting his eyes and sleeping poorly. Jack’s left shoulder aches and he shifts a little, thinking about his life. The brown-haired man hasn’t accomplished much and he regrets a lot of things. Heck, getting fired from that restaurant was the highlight of his year. Washing dishes all night in that place was extremely daunting. Jack sighs and continues to doze off, catching random thoughts when awake to pass time.

 

There’s a faint noise that slightly wakes him up but Jack’s too tired to open his eyes, so he just listens. He hears a door slamming twice, followed by steps around the rest of the house. It’s the first sign of life in a long time and Jack’s shivering from so much cold. He hears another door, closer this time, and the steps are louder. The Irishman does nothing but, when he feels a hand touching his shoulder, Jack forces himself to look up.

 

Anti’s staring down at him with a worried expression, the first trace of emotion Jack’s ever seen on him. The Irishman doesn’t even bother to flinch at the touch, he just watches Anti through half-lidded eyes and accepts his fate in this moment. The green-haired man has a bruise on his cheek, one that wasn’t there before. It looks like someone punched him and Jack tries to frown, but that’s too much effort right now. Anti shakes him a little bit, as if he’s checking on him. The Irishman blinks and Anti purses his lips.

 

Without a word, he unties the rope around Jack’s feet and picks him up bridal-style, surprisingly gentle and slow. The brown-haired man half grunts, half sighs, vision swimming with every movement. It’s only when Anti places him in the middle of the bed that Jack’s breathing catches up and he begins to hyperventilate, tears already prickling the corner of his eyes. He thinks that this is it, this it is. Jack was right about the worst happening and he had plenty of time alone with his imagination to know where this is going.

 

Anti presses a hand over his chest, shaking his head and murmuring something that Jack can’t quite grasp.

 

“Hey!” the green-haired man grunts and speaks louder. “I said stop moving! I promise I won’t do anything, for fuck sakes! Calm down!”

 

Jack freezes and looks at him, wanting to understand this man. He’s frightened but listens to Anti and the green-haired man goes into the bathroom briefly, only to come back with a damp towel. The man touches the gag around Jack’s head and threatens to really hurt him if he screams for help. The Irishman thinks he has no strength for such thing, it’s not even going to matter. When he unties the gag, Jack moans in pain and his jaw hurts. He opens and closes it, feeling weird to be moving his mouth properly again.

 

Anti places the damp towel on Jack’s forehead and this time, the Irishman manages to frown. The green-haired man says nothing while he cleans the Irishman’s face, refreshing him and placing the towel over his dry lips. Jack sighs in relief and closes his eyes when Anti moves to his neck. The brown-haired man is so glad for this small action that he forgets to panic over this man touching him, exhaustion speaking louder.

 

“I didn’t think it’d take me so long to come back…” Anti whispers. “Stay still.”

 

Jack watches him leave the room quickly and come back with a glass of water. The Irishman’s eyes beam at the sight but he does nothing, worried that Anti may try to drug him. The green-haired man rolls his eyes and takes a sip, catching his thoughts and opening his mouth to prove that he drank it. Jack’s eyes widen a little when he sees the man’s bifurcated tongue but nods nonetheless. Anti places the glass between his lips and tilts it while Jack drinks it all.

 

The brown-haired man chokes and coughs, feeling water streaming down his beard and neck. Anti puts the glass down on the nightstand and he stares at Jack’s neck for a long time before breaking the silence.

 

“Do you have to go to the bathroom?”

 

Jack nods but remembers he doesn’t have the gag on, so he clears his throat. “Y-Yeah.” His voice cracks and he coughs some more.

 

Anti holds him again by the arm and Jack doesn’t understand why he’s suddenly being so careful. It’s weird but not exactly uncomfortable. It’s just something that you wouldn’t expect from your kidnapper. Jack just wants to empty his bladder and that’s exactly what he does. The Irishman loses balance once but Anti catches him midway and straightens him back up. Jack almost whispers _Thanks_ , but the words stop in his throat when he remembers that Anti is the reason why this is all happening in the first place.

 

Surprisingly, Anti places him in bed again and the mattress sinks under Jack’s weight. The Irishman can’t help but moan softly under his breath, relieved to be away from that unforgiving floor even if it’s just for a moment. Anti glances at him but focuses on tying up Jack’s feet again, so he’s curled up in bed. The Irishman buries his face into the pillow, feeling the feathers underneath, and he sighs. The green-haired man blinks and stares.

 

Jack’s face scrunches up when his stomach growls and Anti groans in frustration, yelling at how annoying all of this is. _No shit_ , Jack thinks to himself. The man with the green eyes leaves the room and the brown-haired man takes this moment to think. Jack wasn’t expecting for Anti to take care of him at all. This doesn’t mean he’s not a fucking creep and a dangerous man that Jack wants to stay away, but it just took him by surprise. Even more when he comes back with a fucking _sandwich_.

 

Anti practically shoves the food into Jack’s mouth and the Irishman grunts in annoyance, glaring at him before taking a bite. It’s just bread and cheese but Jack’s stomach is thankful either way.

 

“This is fucking embarrassing,” Jack mutters between bites. He feels like a kid, being fed like this. “It’s fucking stupid.”

 

“Shut up and eat,” Anti replies.

 

“You’re the worst kidnapper I’ve ever met,” the Irishman speaks and Anti’s face does something funny. His eyebrow twitches and Jack really needs to shut up now so he takes another bite from the sandwich in Anti’s hand.

 

When he’s done, the green-haired man gives him a little more water and Jack feels more like himself again. He swallows and they have that mini staring competition. Anti’s eyes are a pretty shade of green and his hair is just like Jack’s, though more curly.

 

“H-How…” the Irishman whispers, breaking the silence. “How long has it been...?”

 

It takes a moment for Anti to reply, scanning Jack’s face with those emerald eyes. “I’ve been out for two days,” is all he says.

 

“Oh…”

 

The brown-haired man thinks it must’ve been around three to four days since he’s gone missing then and god, this is a long time to be gone already. Isn’t there a thing about the police looking for someone after forty-eight hours? Is no one actually looking for him? Fuck. _Fuck._ That emptiness in his heart comes back in full force and he suddenly feels nauseous, so he lies down with a huff. Anti says nothing more, just sits next to him and stares. The Irishman curls himself into a ball and holds back tears.

 

He does manage to fall asleep properly and the warm bed makes his muscles relax just a little. Jack doesn’t know what Anti does when he’s not in the bedroom, but he must leave frequently. There’s barely any sound in this house, or apartment, and it can be suffocating sometimes. Jack remains in bed after that moment and he doesn’t complain about it. Anti must also sleep somewhere else because the Irishman never sees him in this bed. It should give him a sense of privacy and relief, but it just makes him more anxious not knowing where the green-haired man is.

 

Anti’s not much of a talker and Jack still doesn’t know why he’s here, why he’s been watching him and all of that. Everything’s been very hazy and the Irishman stays in bed all day with nothing to do. His wrists are screaming in pain and his eyes are constantly sore from crying, his face puffy and red. Jack really needs to think of something to get out of this place, but the only times he sees Anti are when he catches the man staring at him after waking up or when he feeds him something after removing the gag. It’s all very fast and all he does is grunt.

 

So when Anti shows up to give him some water later on, Jack perks up at him and the green-haired man raises an eyebrow. The Irishman takes small gulps of water, purposefully being slower than usual so he can have a chance to speak.

 

“When do you plan to set me free?” Jack starts.

 

“I don’t.”

 

“Why?” he asks and Anti doesn’t respond. “Is this all we’re going to do? You said you were supposed to kill me.”

 

“Thing’s changed,” Anti grumbles.

 

“Why?”

 

“Jack.” The green-haired man places the glass down and he takes a deep breath, nostrils flaring. “Stop talking.”

 

“What are you gonna do? Kill me? Isn’t that what you were supposed to do in the first place?” Jack speaks everything that comes to his mind, feeling some frustration building up beneath his skin. He can tell that Anti’s getting angrier the more he talks but he can’t bring himself to stop. “I don’t know if you can tell, but you’re doing a terrible job at killing me.”

 

“This is none of your business.”

 

“ _None of my-_ Are you fucking serious?!” Jack shouts. “I’ve been fucking _kidnapped_ by a person that looks like _me!_ Is that none of my fucking business?! You wanted to kill me!”

 

“Not anymore!” Anti shouts back.

 

“Why, then?! This doesn’t make any sense!”

 

“I-” Anti grinds his teeth and _literally_ growls. “Fuck!”

 

He suddenly leaves the room and Jack’s heart beats frantically, thinking that he finally pushed the man to his limit and now he’ll actually die because of his big mouth. The Irishman expects for him to show up with a gun ready to shoot him in the head but all he hears is Anti thrashing around the place, sounds of shattering porcelain that Jack can only assume to be plates and random objects. The brown-haired man shakes and feels a panic attack coming, the loud and angry sounds clashing with his anxiety.

 

The pure fragile situation hits Jack again and he’s a fucking idiot for confronting a psychopath that can easily end him. The Irishman looks down at his tied-up body and sucks in air too fast, failing to breathe and choking on his saliva. The corner of his vision beings to turn black and his heart feels like bursting his ribcage. The lashing furious sounds begin to fade and Jack can’t stop his panic from taking over. He can’t breathe. He can’t. He can’t. He can’t.

 

Anti running into the bedroom with a startled face is the last thing Jack sees before passing out.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [buy me a coffee?](https://ko-fi.com/sparklepines)   
>  [playlist](https://open.spotify.com/user/marvelsoo/playlist/02R9IwR338m2qvgRAlkTvn)   
>  [my tumblr](http://strawberry-soo.tumblr.com/)   
> 


	2. Chapter 2

Jack feels a hand caressing his hair when he comes back to his senses and he groans under his breath, smelling tobacco. The hand stops and retreats before Jack can open his eyes. The Irishman blinks and meets emerald eyes looking down at him. The brown-haired man exhales and makes himself smaller, finding it weird that he somehow misses the contact on his hair. Anti sighs and takes a drag from his cigarette. Jack’s starting to get used to the smell and he doesn’t know how to feel about that.

 

“You’re impossible,” Anti murmurs, staring at nothing for once.

 

“I could say the same to you…” Jack huffs weakly and realizes that he still doesn’t have the gag on. He knits his eyebrows, feeling weird.

 

There’s another pause before anyone says something again and it’s a silence that Jack’s also getting used to. He shouldn’t though. Not really.

 

“I’m a hitman,” Anti says, smoke leaving his mouth. “That’s why I leave so often.”

 

“Oh,” Jack whispers, not surprised by this revelation. “You are an assassin… Great…” Then, he frowns and remembers what Anti said before. “Is that why you have to kill me? Who would even want me killed? I’m nobody…”

 

Anti stays quiet, not confirming anything but also not denying. Jack can feel a headache settling in and he wants nothing more than to be back home, in his personal corner that doesn’t have a murderer in the same room. Fuck. Jack looks at Anti’s almost-healed cheek and thinks that he was probably right about someone punching him. Maybe a victim trying to fight back. The Irishman purses his lips and tries not to think much about it.

 

“You stare at me a lot…” Jack changes subject, still whispering with half-lidded eyes. “Don’t you have a mirror? It freaks me out.”

 

A small smirk shows up on Anti’s face that quickly disappears. “You’re different,” he replies and Jack frowns.

 

“Well… I do admit I haven’t _killed_ someone, so I supposed you’re not wrong.”

 

Anti hisses.

 

“Do you want me to shut your mouth again or what?”

 

“Sorry,” Jack says. “I’m fucking bored and you’re the only one I have to speak to. I wouldn’t if I had another option.”

 

The green-haired man sighs and pinches the end of his nose. He places the gag back on Jack’s mouth and stands up to leave again, but looks over his shoulder at the doorway. Anti seems to hesitate for a second but ends up saying _I’ll be back_ before locking the door. Jack’s stomach does something funny and he glares at the white door. The Irishman shifts some more, straightening his back, and he waits for time to pass. There’s not even a goddamn clock in this bedroom. Jack grumbles.

 

It takes a while for Anti to come back again and by the time he shows up, Jack has counted all the small dots on the white ceiling and he knows everything that is in the bedroom by heart, which is not much. There’s just a simple closet at the end of the bed, two nightstands with ordinary lamps and the fucking bathroom door. The Irishman’s beginning to get tired of just sleeping and getting lost in his own head. This is not good.

 

Jack’s eyes find Anti’s silhouette in the dim room and, this time, the green-haired man has a scarf around his neck that hides that faint scar. The green-haired man walks over to sit next to the tied-up man, floor creaking under his boots, and he touches Jack’s hair. The Irishman gasps, heart racing, feeling Anti’s fingers between his greasy strands and he stares at the man with wide eyes. The hitman murmurs something about a bath and the Irishman knits his eyebrows, wanting to brush Anti’s touch away.

 

The man with the green eyes finds Jack’s gaze and all the Irishman does is shake his head desperately, already knowing where this is going. Anti pays him no mind and takes him in his arms, making Jack’s nostrils flare when his breathing kicks up. The brown-haired man tries screaming and thrashing his body against Anti’s when they walk into the bathroom, but the man has a tight hold on him. Jack’s swears are muffled by the gag when Anti places him on the tiled floor, and he angrily observes the hitman fill up the bathtub.

 

When Anti pulls his shirt up, Jack headbutts the man without thinking and the corners of his eyes burn with unshed tears. The green-haired man falls onto his ass and groans, touching his forehead and glaring at the tied-up man. Jack cries out in pain when Anti immediately cuts him on the collarbone with that stupid pocket knife, too fast for him to avoid. The hitman makes sure to threaten him with worse cuts and bruises if he does something like that again. Jack’s face crumbles and his heart’s taken by humiliation.

 

He looks away when Anti starts ripping the shirt off with the knife instead of removing it properly. The sound of the fabric being cut makes Jack’s tears fall and he sniffs, unable to do something about the man taking off all his clothes. Anti’s quiet but the Irishman can feel his gaze on his body. Jack’s hands are covering his dick and he’s butt-naked on the cold floor, red as a tomato. Anti picks him up again and places him in the tub, too gentle for Jack’s liking.

 

The water’s warm and pleasant despite the circumstances he’s in. The green-haired man takes off his own scarf and long jacket, getting ready to scrub Jack’s skin with a sponge full of soap. The brown-haired man still has the gag and ropes on, so it’s Anti who’s moving him along. It’s bizarre to feel content and sick at the same. Part of Jack’s certainly relieved to have a bath and be clean after so long, but the other side is petrified and torn. Even though Anti’s being careful, Jack knows that this isn’t right at all.

 

His thoughts are cut off when he hears Anti huff, but he refuses to stare at the man.

 

“No need to be so shy…” he murmurs. “It’s not like I haven’t seen your dick before.”

 

Jack blinks, feeling numb, and ignores Anti. The soap bubbles are floating on the surface of the water and Jack zones out, feeling Anti wash his greasy hair. The Irishman closes his eyes and pretends he’s somewhere else, letting the sensation of someone, anyone, caressing his hair take him far away. His ears are scrubbed as well and he tilts his head when the sponge touches his neck. A hand brushes over the fresh cut on his skin and it stings. Jack lets out a faint moan and the hand stops abruptly.

 

He opens eyes to see Anti inches away from his face and he swallows, embarrassed for making that sound. The man’s gaze is intense and Jack holds his breath when Anti pushes him underwater, rinsing his hair. Anti’s figure swims and they’re both blurry mirror versions of each other. The green-haired man pulls Jack up by the back of his neck and murmurs something about shaving his beard.

 

It’s too intimate.

 

It’s too intimate to have someone this close taking care of him like that.

 

Anti shaves the sides of Jack’s beard so it looks like his again and the Irishman swallows, staying still and praying that the man does nothing more with the sharp razor against his skin. Jack watches the water run down the drain and Anti picks up a towel to dry him off, ruffling his hair. The Irishman’s shoulders fall, letting Anti do whatever he wants, and a couple of tears still manage to escape from his eyes. At least Anti avoids touching Jack between his legs, that’s a small relief.

 

“You cry a lot,” Anti whispers while drying his chest and arms. “I don’t like it.”

 

Jack stares into nothing. Anti rubs his cheeks with the towel and turns his face until Jack’s looking at him instead. The silence is broken only by drops of water falling from the tap and the Irishman feels a little high after this weird session. The green-haired man rubs his cheeks again, as if wanting to call his attention, and all Jack can do is blink tears away. Anti purses his lips and finishes drying the man.

 

The Irishman waits for him to bring a few clothes and the hitman changes the rope, the previous one damp from the bath. There’s a brief moment when Jack can see the bruises around his wrists and he doesn’t fail to notice Anti rubbing them for a second. It makes the Irishman’s heart skip a beat. The green-haired man dresses him in a pair of boxer briefs and a grey t-shirt, a little too big on him due to their size difference. Jack’s relieved to be in bed again and he immediately curls himself into a ball, hiding his face from the hitman. Anti groans in annoyance and murmurs something that Jack can’t quite catch nor does he care.

 

Instead of leaving after taking care of Jack, Anti stays. The Irishman knits his eyebrows when he feels the mattress sink a little more and he raises his head just enough to see Anti resting his back against the bedframe, one leg on top of the other. Jack feels his hands hover over the gag and he removes it, earning a cough from the Irishman. The brown-haired man licks his lips and breathes in the fresh scents from the bath, body practically melting in bed. Anti’s the first one to fill in the quietness with his voice.

 

“What do you like to read?”

 

The sudden question takes Jack by surprise and he looks up with a huge frown, voice cracking from barely using it lately.

 

“W-What?”

 

“Books!” Anti groans, losing patience so quickly. “What kind of books do you read?!”

 

“What is that suppose to mean?”

 

“Just answer the goddamn question!”

 

Jack flinches at the aggressive tone, wishing Anti would lower his voice and not have a tantrum. “Uh… Sci-fi, fantasy, shit like that...” the Irishman whispers and the green-haired man hums, apparently satisfied with Jack’s answer.

 

The brown-haired man presses his cheek on the pillow, remembering how it felt to have Anti’s fingers there. He looks at the man’s hands for a moment, nails painted black, and he frowns at himself. Jack’s starting to lose his mind, he’s sure of it. Beginning to crave any sort of contact is a terrible sign of loneliness and despair. The Irishman looks up once more, only to gasp softly at the sight of Anti’s sleeping figure.

 

The hitman’s face is tilted towards Jack’s side, mouth ajar and body relaxed. The always-present scowl on his face is gone and his chest moves up and down, up and down. Jack’s breath gets caught in his throat, admiring him in this rare peaceful moment. Anti was right about them being different, somewhat. Their personalities seem to be completely opposite and there’s something else Jack feels when looking at him, but he can’t quite tell what it is.

 

It’s, in a way, fascinating.

 

The Irishman keeps looking, his turn to act like a creep, until his own eyes feel heavy. Jack yawns and buries his face onto the pillow even more. There’s a light scent of tobacco mixed with the generic detergent from the sheets and that’s something he’s beginning to associate to Anti. Jack sighs, with a confused heart and mind, and falls asleep to pass time.

 

There are a couple of books replacing Anti’s figure when Jack wakes up, blinking hard to shake his groggy state away. Jack lifts his head to see the books, colors fading from use, and he recognizes _The Hobbit_ cover right away. He doesn’t know how to feel about all of this. Anti just gave him books to fucking pass time and the Irishman exhales deeply, thinking about it. The books are a little bit too far for him to reach them in this weird position, so he waits for the green-haired man to come back at some point.

 

Jack’s lips part when he realizes he still doesn’t have the gag on after taking a bath and he opens his mouth a couple of times, jaw aching. The room lights are on and when the door creaks open, the Irishman’s heart races for some reason. Anti walks in with food and water, wearing just a simple shirt this time and torn black jeans. He has a green hair strand curling over his forehead and Jack’s blue eyes follow it. The hitman pushes the books a little to the side after placing the food on the nightstand and he pulls Jack by the armpits until the tied-up man has his back against the bed frame.

 

“Another sandwich?” Jack murmurs.

 

Anti glares, piercing his soul, until the Irishman apologizes and takes a bite from the man’s hand. It’s not his fault for being like that and he’s beginning to get sick of sandwiches. Anti’s the one who kidnapped him and now he has to deal with all these simple needs. Jack hopes it’s not being pleasant for the man either and that the hitman ends up getting tired of him. The Irishman sighs between bites and looks down at the books again.

 

“You brought me books…”

 

Anti hums, nonchalant, and gives him some water. Jack swallows down the food and blinks at the man, trying to solve this complicated puzzle that is Anti. The brown-haired man bites his bottom lip, keeping the small _Thanks_ to himself, and the man’s gaze falls to his mouth. Anti’s long eyelashes softly touch his freckled skin and Jack holds his breath when Anti raises his hand towards his face. The green-haired man brushes his fingers on the corner of Jack’s lips, mumbling something about crumbs in his beard, and the Irishman doesn’t dare to move. He flushes with a beating heart when Anti’s thumb brushes his bottom lip before leaving him be.

 

Jack clears his throat and swallows, refusing to stare at him in the eyes. The green-haired man inhales and sets the books closer to the Irishman, in a way that he can get them easily. Anti tells him that he’ll be gone for a couple of days and this should help him to spend some time. Jack frowns.

 

“Why even bother?” he asks. “I don’t understand… You’re just giving both of us a headache.” When Anti opens his mouth to speak, Jack cuts him off. “If you say it’s none of my business again, I will fucking scream.” Anti closes his mouth and gives him a look. The Irishman shakes his head. “You’re unbelievable.”

 

The green-haired man says he’ll leave Jack’s legs free so he can go to the bathroom by himself and have water from the tap. Anti places some granola bars on the nightstand and sends Jack a long look before leaving the room, locking up the door. The Irishman’s baffled to have this much freedom since waking up here. He waits for Anti’s steps to fade away and counts to one hundred under his breath. When nothing more happens, Jack practically jumps off the bed only to fall on his ass.

 

“Shit...”

 

The Irishman groans and stretches his weak legs on the floor, feeling his knees scream and pop. He stays like that, spreading his toes and getting used to moving them again. The purple ring around his feet makes Jack grimace and he slowly stands up, using the bed as leverage. He walks towards the door with wobbly steps and opens his mouth, scream trapped inside. The possibility to shout for help and have something horrible happen to him petrifies Jack. The Irishman’s wide eyes fill with unshed tears while still looking at the white door, suddenly scared to try something. What if Anti was lying about leaving and he’s just testing Jack? What if he’s still right outside the door?

 

The brown-haired man lets out a shaky breath and turns around, choosing to go towards the window curtains. He manages to pull one aside a little bit until he sees the outside world. Jack curses and realizes that this is an apartment, on a floor high up. The Irishman doesn’t recognize where he is but he gets lost staring at the gentle snow falling from a grey sky. He rests his forehead against the window and sighs, feeling exhausted but a little content to see something different.

 

Jack sits in bed again and pulls the books towards him, reading the titles of _The Hobbit, The Neverending Story_ and _Frankenstein_. He huffs, wondering where Anti got these and opens the first one. He manages to pull it to his lap and flicking the pages with his tied-up hands demands a little bit of effort, but Jack deals with it nonetheless. Even though he has read _The Hobbit_ before, the Irishman accepts anything to pass time quickly.

 

Jack checks the window every now and then, trying to track time in his mind and by the end of a day, Jack knows all the thirteen dwarves names and all the tale’s songs by heart.

 

He puffs in annoyance and goes to the bathroom, taking a moment to look at himself in the mirror. The artificial lights make the dark circles under his eyes stand out and, for a brief second, Jack thinks he looks like Anti even more. The corner of Jack’s eyes aren’t as flush as before, face for once not smeared with tears. The light cuts on his cheeks are beginning to heal by now but he can see a fresh pink one peeking from the shirt’s collar.

 

The Irishman’s lips part in deep thought, remembering the green-haired man threatening him with that pocket knife before the bath. This is messing him up. Jack knows he’s beginning to feel even more confused towards Anti and he shivers, recalling the man’s touch over his lips. He turns around, leaving his reflection behind, and goes back to bed after turning off the lights. Jack feels like a kid who’s been grounded.

 

Despite having the books as a distraction, the brown-haired man sleeps throughout the days and occasionally struggles with a granola wrapping to eat. At some point, he turns his back towards the door, curling up and rubbing his legs under the covers. It’s not warm enough for him yet, especially when he’s wearing only a t-shirt and boxer briefs, but Jack enjoys the comfortable sheets. The smell of tobacco is gone from the room and the Irishman’s bothered by it.

 

Jack hears a thud and wakes up in alarm, immediately sitting up to look around. There are heavy steps in the apartment followed by a click from the lock, and the Irishman gasps when seeing Anti. He’s limping and grunting under his breath. Jack opens his mouth to speak but stops when the man sits in bed, struggling a couple of times to remove his boots and shirt. The Irishman shrinks and stays still, watching Anti toss them across the room and fall in bed on his stomach with a loud huff.

 

The brown-haired man gulps and tries to control his breathing, suddenly self-conscious of how heavy it sounds. Jack looks down at the passed-out man, face turned to the other side, and scans him up and down. Despite the lack of light, the Irishman can see faint bruises on Anti’s back and dry blood on his shoulder. Jack’s speechless, startled to see the man suddenly entering and crashing next to him, completely done and exhausted. It’s also the second time Anti chooses to sleep here and the Irishman has to deal with a psycho inches away from him.

 

Jack looks at the bedroom door, not recalling if Anti locked it back up, and looks back at the sleeping figure. The brown-haired man curses under his breath and finds himself lying down, facing the back of Anti’s head. From here, he can see more cuts and bruises that make Jack purse his lips. The green-haired man should take care of them soon or they’ll get infected. He sees the hitman shift and turn his face towards Jack, eyes closed and mouth ajar. There’s a larger scar that goes up to his left shoulder, down to his hip. The Irishman finds a gash over the man’s left eyebrow, blood thankfully already dry. How did he even manage to come back here without dying? Jesus.

 

There, in the dark silence of the room, Anti looks so vulnerable that Jack can’t take his eyes off him. The Irishman’s heart swells and in a stupid, incoherent, moment, he slowly raises his hands towards the man’s face. His fingers hover over Anti’s cheek, down to his jaw, and Jack feels his warm breath sending goosebumps over his skin. He’s so pale and always looks so tired, Jack’s not sure how he survived all this time. The Irishman’s tied-up hands move to his neck and he can’t help but touch the light scar there. He traces it with care and he forgets about the world.

 

The peaceful moment is broken by a firm hold around Jack’s neck and he wheezes when Anti suddenly wakes up, pinning him down in bed. The brown-haired man chokes and looks up to see a half-awake Anti, pupils wide and hair messy.

 

“What do you think you’re doing?!” the hitman growls, words slightly slurred from sleep.

 

“N-” Jack tries sucking in air, heart frantically beating against his ribcage and eyes turning red. “N-Nothin’... I… S-Stop…” he gasps, feeling his throat closing and head pulsing. “A-Anti...”

 

The hitman’s eyes widen, as if finally realizing what’s happening, and his hands leave Jack’s throat like he’s been burned. The brown-haired man takes a deep breath and coughs his lungs out, tears falling from his eyes. Anti moves to be next to Jack and the Irishman hyperventilates. He pushes himself away from Anti in the middle of a panic attack and when he looks up, the green-haired man has a horrified expression on his face. He opens and closes his mouth several times, listening to Jack freaking out and shaking like a leaf.

 

It feels like the first time he woke up here all over again and the brown-haired man can’t breathe, he can’t.

 

“Stop that!” Anti shouts, looking hysterical and grabbing his own hair. “Stop crying! Stop doing that! I didn’t mean to do that, alright?! You’re fine! Stop!”

 

The screaming makes it worse and Jack chokes on his saliva, moving away without thinking and falling from bed on his ass. He wants out. He wants out. He wants out.

 

“Jack!” Anti continues to scream and runs towards him on the floor. He shakes the Irishman’s shoulders and whines. “Jack.”

 

“D-Don’t… Don’t touch me,” is all Jack can say between gasps and it only makes Anti groan.

 

The corners of his vision begin to turn black and he really, really, doesn’t want to pass out right now. So he pulls his legs up and buries his face down, creating his own safe space and trying to forget about the man in front of him. Breathe. Breathe. In and out. In and out. In and out. Jack knits his eyebrows and murmurs this to himself, letting his body relax. Anti shuts his mouth and after a long time, the Irishman shakily breathes. He looks up to see the man still there on the floor with Jack for some stupid reason and the brown-haired man glares.

 

“Y-You’re a fucking asshole,” the Irishman whispers and Anti has a weird expression.

 

When Jack makes a move to get up, the green-haired man raises his arms to help, but the tied-up man just shoves him away. Anti grunts in irritation but does nothing, letting Jack go back to bed. He hears the hitman grumbling to himself in the dark and listens to him leaving the room. Jack spends the next couple of hours crying himself to sleep and feeling hopeless.

 

 

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

Anti shows up hours later wearing clean clothes with damp hair, cuts taken care of and beard trimmed. Jack looks at him from over his shoulder, noticing all that, and returns to ignoring him. His neck is sore and probably purple-bruised after what happened. Jack sighs and rubs his cheek onto the pillow, wanting to go back to sleep and forget. Anti doesn’t let him.

 

“Did you read the books I gave you?” the green-haired man speaks from the doorway. Jack doesn’t bother to reply. “I’ve asked you a question.”

 

Silence.

 

The Irishman hears his footsteps approaching and, soon enough, Anti’s crouching down in front of him, staying at the same level as Jack in bed. Green eyes meet blue and the hitman sighs, pinching the end of his nose like he always does when stressed. Jack remembers not to cry so the man won’t be angry. Anti opens his mouth to speak and this time, his tone of voice is low and calm.

 

“Jack, I kill people for a living. When you woke me up, I acted on instinct. It wasn’t my intention. You know this, you’re not dumb.”

 

It’s the most sincere thing Jack’s ever heard coming from him and the soft tone does something to the Irishman’s heart. Sure, he knows that it was stupid to touch a sleeping killing machine, but Jack didn’t think properly and it was too late. Now, he’s back to his original state when coming here and it’s scary. The brown-haired man purses his lips and gives him a short nod, just not wanting any more trouble. Anti scowls but leaves him be.

 

The green-haired man asks if he can see the injury and Jack denies him, burying his face further under the covers. The last thing he wants right now is Anti touching him and the hitman sighs, standing up. Jack feels like a child again pretending not to be mad at someone, except he is. Anti doesn’t show up for the rest of the day, still leaving Jack’s legs and mouth free, and the Irishman reads _The Neverending Story_ this time.

 

Jack looks out the window and watches the sun set, sky turning black and stars twinkling. He tries opening the door at one point, but it doesn’t work, knob just moving up and down. The Irishman goes to the bathroom, grimacing at his neck, and checks his “food-supplies”, noticing there are no more granola bars left. Great. So now he’s back to waiting for the asshole to provide him more food and Jack has to remind himself not to lose his temper like Anti.

 

He starts worrying over the man not showing up when morning comes and he’s almost done with the second book. Jack hears faint noises from behind the door and his stomach growls. The first thing that he notices when the door opens is that Anti’s shirtless, and the second thing is that he leaves the door ajar and makes a motion with his chin to call Jack. The brown-haired man stands up and his heart beats like a drum over the thought of leaving this room. He steps forward and looks at Anti, afraid that this is a trick. Nothing happens and the man just walks away as if Jack’s supposed to follow him.

 

The Irishman takes baby steps and his breathing turns a bit sharper, faster, not quite believing that this is happening. He pokes his head out of the room first and sees a living room with a couch that’s seen better days, a simple coffee table and a fucking TV. Jack stares at the television a little longer, immediately craving _that_ distraction. He walks out of the room, pressing his back against the wall right away and scanning the place. There’s a kitchen right after, no walls separating from the living room, and Anti’s there, sitting in a chair while looking at Jack.

 

It’s mostly empty and not exactly clean, The apartment looks old and practically abandoned, it’s small and the TV is outdated. The windows are shut with curtains just like in the bedroom and the lightbulb from the kitchen flickers every now and then. The smell of cigarettes is stronger here but there’s something else that makes Jack’s stomach growl. Anti calls him and the Irishman hesitantly walks towards him, feeling uneasy to be so out in the open again.

 

The green-haired man tells him to sit down and Jack stares at the Chinese food take-out on the table. His mouth waters at the sight and Anti brings his chair closer so he can feed the tied-up man. Jack doesn’t even hesitate this time and eats whatever Anti gives him, sighing and moaning over the food. The hitman takes a few turns to eat as well and it’s awfully natural.

 

He’s self-conscious of the bruise around his neck and Anti’s shirtless state, both exposed in this way. Anti’s eyes grow dark when looking at his neck and Jack flushes under the man’s gaze. The hitman’s body is more defined than the Irishman’s, and the deep cuts on his chest are stitched. He thinks it must be hard to do this all by himself. Jack sees scars marking his body, each carrying a story that Jack can’t even phantom, and there are freckles over the man’s shoulders. He looks down at Anti’s happy trail that disappears under black jeans. He swallows.

 

When the silence stretches for too long for the Irishman’s liking, he clears his throat.

 

“I…” he tries thinking of something to say. “I don’t understand you.” Anti rests his cheek on his hand, curly green hair falling over his forehead. The Irishman swallows again, pushing thoughts of how pretty he looks like that away. “Again… why bother?”

 

“I’ve told you already,” Anti sighs, chest rising. “You’re my double. I was meant to kill you.”

 

Jack’s blue eyes wander to his face, tired green eyes staring back. The place is quiet.

 

“Then, why don’t you?” the brown-haired man whispers. “Why don’t you kill me if that’s your job...?”

 

“It’s…” Anti scowls and Jack can tell he’s getting frustrated with himself. “It’s different. You’re different.”

 

“You keep saying that but I still don’t get it…”

 

The green-haired man groans, not being able to put it into words, and Jack tells him to calm down, not wanting another tantrum to happen. It feels like Anti almost wants to pout and that makes Jack huff. The hitman scratches his hair and his shoulders fall, chewing on his lips. The Irishman’s eyes follow that move and he waits, toes curling under the table.

 

“You… You’re pure.” Anti knits his eyebrows, as if not understanding as well, and Jack copies the frown.

 

Anti suddenly gets up and the Irishman jolts back. The green-haired man murmurs something about him returning to the bedroom and Jack feels a sudden wave of anxiety, also getting up to stop Anti.

 

“A-Are you leaving?!” the Irishman stutters, not wanting to go back and be alone in that room. Anti freezes and they both look down to see that Jack’s hands are touching the hitman’s abs. He brings his hands up to his chest and flushes, whispering a weak “S-Sorry.”

 

Anti looks back at Jack through his eyelashes and moves away without a word, just pointing at the bedroom with his chin and waiting for the Irishman to walk inside. Jack sighs in the doorway but doesn’t fail to notice how Anti’s not touching him. Usually the man has no sense of personal space but he’s being awfully careful, and not subtle, after Jack’s request. When the green-haired man is about to close the door, the Irishman places his bare foot between them.

 

“When are you coming back?”

 

“Do you care now?” Anti scowls.

 

“You’re the one who’s keeping me alive in this shitty hellhole, I _have_ to.”

 

The green-haired man hums and they lean forward a little bit, like there’s an invisible pull between them. Jack feels like whispering for no reason as well, just taking in the sight before him. Anti stares, gaze flickering to his bruised neck up to his blue eyes.

 

“I won’t be long… Just a day,” he murmurs.

 

Jack nods once and watches him close the door all the way, locking him up. The Irishman looks around the room, not sure if he should feel better for being in a familiar place or not. _Familiar?_ Fuck. He recalls that outdated TV in the living room and he groans, upset that he didn’t get to have it. Although, he’s surprised that Anti let him leave for a moment. His legs appreciate the stretch, though they still feel wobbly.

 

The Irishman lies down in the middle of the bed, eyes closed, and he gets lost in his thoughts. Goddamnit. Anti shirtless was quite a sight and Jack curses to himself, knowing he’s losing his mind. Being alone in this fucking place, for who knows how long, is driving him insane. Jack screamed for him not to touch him in the heat of the moment because it was fucking frightening. Those same hands that strangled him are the ones that fed him. The Irishman furrows his brows, thinking how fucked up that sounds.

 

Pure.

 

He said Jack’s _pure._ What the hell did he mean by that? Anti’s a mystery to him and he seems to struggle to express himself so much that it pisses Jack off. The brown-haired man turns over, sighing into the pillow. It really doesn’t help that his kidnapper is… hot? Narcissus much? That’s fucked up. Although, when Jack looks at him, it feels somehow unique. There’s something enticing in his eyes. Provocative. It either makes the Irishman want to admire or puch Anti’s face. Fuck.

 

Jack shakes his head, pushing these thoughts away. He’s been kidnapped. He’s been kidnapped and no one has come to rescue him. Anti has to watch him pee and bath him against his will. The brown-haired man has to keep that in mind and not fall for silly temptations just because he hasn’t been in touch with any other human. Right? Right. Plus, Anti tried to strangle him because Jack caught him with his guard down. That only shows how much of a dangerous man Anti is. What more is he capable of?

 

The Irishman groans out loud, grinding his teeth and cursing that man for fucking him up. He takes a deep breath, mouth open, and imagines those hands around his neck. Jack raises tied-up hands to touch the bruises there and, when pressing his thumb over Anti’s handprint, he lets out a shaky moan. The dull ache sends a small wave of pleasure down to his cock. Jack sighs, frustrated with himself, knowing that what he’s doing ain’t right. There’s a dark thought in his mind that whispers for him to keep going and that Anti doesn’t have to know.

 

It’ll be just something quick to ease his tension and Anti will be gone for a day, which gives Jack plenty of time to recover from this embarrassment. Right. It works.

 

He swallows and keeps his eyes shut, relaxing his body and focusing on the feeling. Shit, Jack’s grateful that at least he can still get it up after such events. The brown-haired man presses his thumbs over the bruise harder and his cock twitches. He flips around to be flat on his stomach and he spreads his legs, getting turned on. Jack moves his hips against the sheets, hesitating at first. It feels like he’s being watched and Jack moans at the thought, humping the bed with more force.

 

Jack pants, feeling his erection pulsing, and he tightens the grip around his neck. The Irishman sobs and thrusts against the sheets faster, precum staining the boxer briefs. Jack lets his head fall and tries covering his mouth with the pillow so he won’t be louder, paranoid that someone might hear him. He shouldn’t be doing this, he really shouldn’t, and that fact alone turns him on even more. Jack makes needy and whiny sounds, seaking release with what he can.

 

The Irishman’s heart races and his breathing’s cut off between moans, heat below his stomach growing. He swears and Anti’s green eyes flash in his mind when he comes, crying out while unloading in his underwear. Jack keeps humping the bed until he finishes it off completely, letting his orgasm overtake him and curling his toes. It feels _so_ good. Jack opens his eyes to a blurry vision and he blinks a couple of times, turning around to take a deep breath, recovering from sweet bliss.

 

Great.

 

Fucking great.

 

He just masturbated to a fantasy of a psychopath choking him, humping like a desperate bunny. This is just _fantastic._ He’s officially insane. Jack puffs some hair out of his eyes and he grimaces, feeling his cum beginning to cool. The brown-haired man slowly gets up from bed, looking around as if he’ll find Anti hiding somewhere like the creep he is, and walks into the bathroom. Jack refuses to look at himself in the mirror and manages to push down the boxer briefs enough to clean his dick. There’s a darker spot on the fabric that gives away Jack’s dirty playtime and he hopes for it to dry fast.

 

The quietness in the apartment is heavier than before and Jack flushes deeply, clearing his throat and picking up a book to read. He can’t focus on the words for shit, mind going back to what he did. Jack’s so confused with himself and he blames Anti for everything. Perhaps killing him would’ve been a better option. It’d spare them both all this conflict and unnecessary thoughts. Anti wouldn’t have to take care of him and Jack would be at peace.

 

He groans and throws the book across the room, turning his back from the door.

 

The Irishman dozes off a couple of times, falling back asleep when he still doesn’t hear any sound. Between blurry dreams, Jack sighs and feels warmth. The brown-haired man tosses himself in bed and he whines, feeling horny again. He doesn’t know how many hours have passed but his mind is fuzzy, half asleep. Jack just keeps whining and moving his hips deliberately, but his eyes widen when suddenly hearing footsteps. He practically jumps out of his skin, fully awake. Jack hastily pulls the covers up with his teeth and pretends to be asleep when the door opens.

 

Jack presses his eyes hard enough to see colorful dots and his heart pounds against his ribcage so loud that the Irishman’s afraid the hitman can hear it. It’s odd that he recognizes Anti’s footsteps by now and the green-haired man walks slowly towards the bed, across from Jack. It’s quiet and he can feel the man’s piercing gaze behind his back. Jack bites on his lips and prays for him to just go somewhere else. Of all the times Jack wished for his return, it certainly wasn’t now.

 

The lights are turned on and Anti’s voice fills the room.

 

“Jack.”

 

The Irishman holds back the urge to roll his eyes. Well, at least he _tried_. He hums in return. not turning around and pressing his legs together. Anti rounds the bed to be in front of Jack and the tied-up man looks down, brown hair following over his eyes. There’s a moment where Anti watches him and the Irishman bites his bottom lip even more, the tip of his ears burning.

 

“You’re blushing,” Anti murmurs. “Why?”

 

Jack holds back a squeak and shakes his head. The green-haired man scowls and crouches down. The Irishman gasps, seeing him up close. There are tiny snowflakes on his green hair and Jack’s heart swells. Anti squints his green eyes and the brown-haired man feels trapped under that gaze. Jack gasps when the man raises his hand, only to see the man purse his lips and drop it.

 

“Are you feeling sick? Do you have a fever?”

 

Jack blinks with glassy eyes and lets out a weak chuckle. An assassin, who kidnapped him, is asking if he’s okay. Now _that’s_ fucked up.

 

“I just want to sleep,” Jack mumbles.

 

They both know Anti can see through his bullshit and the air is tense around them. Anti eyes the covers pulled up to his chin and he growls, asking if Jack’s hiding something from him. The Irishman shakes his head desperately and yelps when Anti abruptly pushes the covers down. Jack curls into a ball as soon as he can, glaring at nothing and feeling ashamed, but Anti can see his erection through the underwear nonetheless. He flushes all over, angry at himself for still being hard.

 

Jack makes himself smaller, wanting to cry and disappear. Not so pure now, huh? Anti bares his teeth and grunts, closing his hands into fists and the Irishman flinches when he runs out of the room, angrily shouting a curse. The door slams and Jack’s heart skips to his throat, pulling the covers back up.

 

It’s only hours later, when Jack’s dick has softened, that Anti bangs on the door and tells the Irishman to get up. The brown-haired man finds the door ajar and he peeks once more, seeing Anti on that old couch with a knife in his hands. He’s sharpening the weapon with care and slow motions, and Jack hesitantly clears his throat to announce his presence. The green-haired man doesn’t take his eyes off the knife and just murmurs something about food on the table.

 

Jack sits on a chair and glares at the pasta before him. How the fuck is he supposed to eat pasta with his hands tied-up? He huffs and picks up the fork with a fist, still too ashamed to ask Anti for help. Since when did Jack get used to Anti feeding him anyway? Jack puffs strands of hair out of his eyes and leans down to grab a bite. He looks at the front door and then at the hitman, who’s cleaning a couple of guns. He sighs.

 

The fork falls from his hand twice in a row and the shattering noise against the plate jolts him. Jack hears Anti groaning in the background and he huffs. The brown-haired man looks at the back of Anti’s head and narrows his eyes. Jack feels a mischievous thought hover in his mind, and he drops the fork for the third time on purpose. When the hitman gets up from the couch, the Irishman watches him come closer with a glare and pick up the fork. Jack bites the inside of his cheeks so he won’t smile, somewhat content that he caused this when Anti feeds him.

 

The green-haired man brushes his fingers on Jack’s beard and the tied-up man gasps, turning his face away.

 

“It needs to be shaved again,” Anti tells him.

 

Jack’s small content for having the hitman do something he wanted is gone and his face falls, knowing that Anti will probably take care of it with a bath. The Irishman murmurs that he can do all of that by himself but the green-haired man only smirks, already taking Jack in his arms. The tied-up man feels his face heat up and he can’t help but breathe in Anti’s scent, nose up to his neck. The faint white scar so close that Jack finds it appealing.

 

Anti doesn’t ruin his clothes this time, thankfully, and just removes the rope around Jack’s hands first after placing him on the toilet. The Irishman hisses and, even if he wanted to, he doesn’t move his wrists because of the sharp pain. Anti grumbles and Jack reddens when getting undressed, praying that he doesn’t get hard or things will get even more awkward. The brown-haired man keeps his arms still, fingers shaking, and he’s placed in the bathtub with warm water.

 

It feels different this time. Odd and intrusive, for sure, but there’s something else. Anti’s quiet, scowling as always, and he rubs his hands over Jack’s wrists. The Irishman gets tense at first but, after a while, his body loosens up. Anti scrubs his chest and back with the sponge, covering the brown-haired man with bubbles. Jack sighs when the hitman holds his cheek, biting his bottom lip to control himself. When he looks up, he finds Anti’s intense gaze and he swallows.

 

They don’t break eye contact when Anti brushes his fingers on Jack’s hips and the brown-haired man shudders. The hitman grunts under his breath and his grip tightens before letting go of the Irishman’s hips. Jack flushes all over and looks down at the water, knowing he’s half-hard. Anti takes off his boots, rolling his pants up, and the brown-haired man gasps when he steps into the bathtub. Anti sits behind Jack, on top of the porcelain edge, and he waits for the Irishman to lean back. The man with the blue eyes feels his heart racing when Anti shaves the sides of the Irishman’s beard like this.

 

Jack watches him from upside down, head between his legs, and he tries not to breath so fast. Anti moves Jack’s head the way he wants and trims some of his hair as well, brown locks falling into water. Jack’s bangs were starting to annoy him and get into his eyes, so he appreciates the gesture. Anti’s fingers caress his hair and the Irishman rolls his eyes back, mouth falling open with a sigh. Jack’s heart picks up when he sees the green-haired man looking down at him through long eyelashes.

 

Anti’s lips part and he leans down, one hand on Jack’s hair while the other goes further, touching the Irishman’s chest, down to his navel. Jack’s panting and he stops Anti’s hand from going anywhere else, holding it with sore wrists when touching his happy trail. The hitman tugs on Jack’s hair lightly before moving down to his neck, wrapping his fingers there, and it feels like the Irishman’s heart is about to explode. He’s suddenly overwhelmed and scared, eyes prickling with tears and letting some of them fall. Anti scowls and groans, abruptly removing himself from the bathtub and breaking the moment.

 

Jack blinks and it feels like he just hallucinated everything because all trace of kindness in Anti seems to disappear. The man urges Jack to get up and he dries him hastily with a towel, shoving the grey t-shirt over the Irishman’s head. Jack struggles to put his leg up a couple of times, body feeling like jello, and Anti huffs in annoyance when dressing him in new underwear, ignoring his half-erection. The Irishman frowns, still processing what happened in the tub, not quite present. Where they really just about to kiss?

 

“Ah!” Jack shouts when Anti grabs him by the wrist to leave the bathroom. “What the hell, man? What’s your problem?”

 

“You!” the green-haired man replies, pushing Jack until he falls in bed awkwardly. “You’re my fucking problem.”

 

The Irishman knits his eyebrows. “Then just kill me, you asshole!”

 

“I can’t!” Jack freezes when Anti shouts, fists in the air. “I just _can’t!”_

 

Silence falls like a blanket over them and the brown-haired man flinches when Anti steps closer. The hitman’s nostrils flare and he takes a deep breath, picking up the rope in the bathroom to tie Jack’s hands again. The Irishman groans when Anti ties up his feet as well, not connecting them with his wrists this time, just short enough so Jack won’t sprint. He watches Anti leave, slamming the door and leaving him at a total loss. He pants by himself, trying to figure them out. Jack curses under his breath and lies flat, staring at the ceiling and waiting for his dick to soften. He’ll not dare to do something about that again.

 

Jack knits his eyebrows, thinking of Anti’s words. He can’t kill him even though he’s supposed to. Should that make Jack relieved? Doesn’t that mean he’ll be under Anti’s gaze until he says so? The Irishman’s heart flutters and he stares at the door, hoping for it to open.

 

But it doesn’t.

 

 

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

Jack’s finished reading all three books by now and he’s sulking in a corner of the bed, staring at the window. At some point, he opened the curtains just enough to see, but snow falling from the sky can only entertain so much. Morning came and the apartment is dead quiet. Jack’s face is smeared by tears that had fallen during sleep and he sniffs, wanting things to be normal. His mind keeps going back to Anti, remembering those green eyes looking down at him in the bathtub.

 

The Irishman can feel Anti’s ghostly touch going down to his chest and stopping over his navel. He shakes his head and looks at the door, clicking his tongue and getting up. Jack walks with short steps, being careful not to trip over the rope around his ankles, and his hand grabs the doorknob. Jack pushes it down and he gasps when the door actually fucking opens. The Irishman freezes, waiting for Anti to come running and punishing Jack somehow for attempting to leave, but nothing happens.

 

Jack steps into the living room, looking around for a sight of green hair, and he tentatively licks his lips before speaking.

 

“H-Hello?”

 

No answer.

 

The apartment is empty and so is Jack’s heart. He walks over to the kitchen and finds those stupid granola bars and a box of cereal. Jack grimaces when opening the fridge, finding old Chinese take-out, cheese, bread and some eggs. Fantastic. The Irishman really doesn’t know how the fuck Anti’s survived this long. He sighs and picks up a granola bar before walking towards the couch. Jack frowns when he doesn’t find Anti’s duffel bag with all those weapons next to the coffee table and ignores the worry in his heart. The brown-haired man sits down, feeling exposed and alone.

 

Jack brings a pillow from the bedroom so he can lie down on the couch and when he turns the TV on, the Irishman groans in satisfaction. He goes straight to the news channel, wondering if there’s going to be any information regarding his disappearance. Jack also checks the date and his face falls, hands dropping the control. It’s December 10th, which means Jack’s been here for two weeks. Two long fucking weeks. And no one has found him.

 

There’s nothing about him in the news and the Irishman swallows his tears. He can‘t stay like this forever. Jack looks around, seeing another door that leads to a smaller bathroom, and he assumes that there’s where Anti takes care of himself. He comes back to the kitchen and starts opening drawers until he finds a couple of knives. They are not as sharp as Anti’s, but Jack takes one anyway and flips it upside down. The brown-haired man inhales and places it between the rope around his wrists, praying that this works.

 

Jack starts moving his hands up and down, slowly cutting the rope with the knife. The Irishman keeps checking the front door, as if Anti’s going to show up in any second, and he speeds up his pace. The brown-haired man gasps when the rope breaks and falls on the wooden floor. He stretches his wrists with a painful face and he crouches down to untie the ones around his ankle. being free after all this time. Jack sighs and rubs his wrists, now staring at the door. For a moment, he thinks of checking if it’s locked but he just looks away and sits on the couch.

 

The brown-haired man hates the silence and he turns the TV’s volume up as the hours go by. Jack buries his face on his hands, not being able to deny how terrified he feels for being alone. Anti left so upset,  _ so _ angry. The Irishman sobs by himself, wishing things to work out despite all this madness. He didn’t ask for none of that, he didn’t ask to be kidnapped, to develop this weird attachment towards someone that looks like him. Jack pulls his legs up, crying in the middle of the apartment.

 

When night comes, Jack swears out loud because he misses Anti. Jack fucking  _ misses _ him. 

 

The rest of the food is left untouched and all he does is go to the bathroom sometimes, only to flop back on the couch. He sleeps there, uncovered and shaking slightly, waiting for Anti. The Irishman has incoherent nightmares that jolts him awake, sweating through the t-shirt and gasping in the empty place. He showers in the morning, with trembling hands and weak legs, but showers nonetheless. Jack’s dark circles under his eyes are horrendous and he frowns when touching his belly, thinking he’s lost weight.

 

There are a couple of clothes in that other bathroom, inside another duffel bag that looks forgotten, and Jack picks up a long-sleeved black shirt that feels thicker and comfortable over his skin. Walking out of the bathroom, still in his underwear and bare feet, Jack eyes the front door with sorrow. He inhales, catching Anti’s scent on this shirt. This is ridiculous, right? Jack swallows and walks towards the door, hand resting on the knob. The Irishman’s scared, not sure what he’ll do if its unlocked. He tightens his grip around it.

 

Jack groans and kicks the door with his foot, giving up and turning around. He rests his elbows on his knees, hands on his head, and the loneliness is overwhelming. The Irishman stays like that for along time, TV turned off because he can’t focus on anything. When did he become this? What happened to him? Will he just stay here until someone finds out or he simply dies without trying?

 

Footsteps.

 

Jack sucks in air and abruptly gets up to look with wide blue eyes. He recognizes these footsteps that are getting closer and closer, heart beginning to race and pupils dilate. Jack freezes when the door opens easily, realizing it was unlocked, but seeing Anti in the doorway makes him forget about it. Anti’s scowling and Jack’s glad to see that frown for the first time. The green-haired man has his duffel bag in his hands and he looks down, sighing and closing the door. Jack stares, unmoving.

 

“Why didn’t you leave?” Anti asks and he sounds exhausted.

 

Jack bursts into tears and shakes his head.

 

“You’re stupid, you know that?” the hitman grinds his teeth. “You should have left.”

 

“I…” Jack chokes and repeats Anti’s words. “I c-can’t.”

 

He falls on his knees and sobs his heart out, knowing that he’s changed. Anti lets him cry and drops the duffel bag on the floor, wordless locking up the door and walking towards the victim. Jack lets Anti pick him up from the floor and carry him towards the bedroom, burying his face on the man’s neck and smearing his shirt with fat tears. Anti places him in bed and scowls when noticing that Jack’s free, rope gone. The Irishman doesn’t even flinch when Anti ties his hands up and just continues to sob.

 

“You look pretty when you cry…” Anti sighs. “But I still don’t like it.”

 

Jack huffs between his tears. “Y-You just called yourself pretty.”

 

“Well, yes.” Anti smirks and raises an eyebrow. “I am.”

 

The Irishman snorts and stays still when the hitman touches his cheek. Anti caresses him with his thumb and Jack watches him through half-lidded eyes. The green-haired man shakes his head and murmurs something about Jack giving him so much trouble. Anti clears his throat, removing his hand from the Irishman’s cheek and asking if he ate something. Jack flushes, not wanting to admit that he couldn’t bring himself to eat without the man. Anti grumbles, knowing the answer.

 

This time, Jack doesn’t complain when Anti feeds him a sandwich and chews the food quietly. They return to this weird routine that consists in staring and not talking. Anti takes his boots off and lies down on the other side of the bed, taking a pack of cigarettes from his pocket, and it feels like deja vú. Jack watches the smoke fill the room and Anti shuts his eyes, breathing in and out. The Irishman blinks and keeps looking at him in awe, closing his hands into fists when he craves contact. Jack’s heart swells and he gives up.

 

The brown-haired man moves slowly towards him, lifting his leg to be on top of Anti. The mattress sinks a little more with their weight and when Anti keeps his eyes closed, unmoving, Jack knows he’s still there because the hitman’s allowing him. The Irishman’s breathing increases, anxious and confused, but he adjusts himself on Anti’s hips to look down at the man. The green-haired man places his cigarette between his lips, dragging from it, and finally opens his eyes. Green meeting blue.

 

Jack’s trembling hands move up to Anti’s chest, tentatively touching his scar and pausing over his mouth. He leans down, fingers brushing on the hitman’s lips, and their noses touch. Anti brings his hand to hold Jack by the chin, forcing him to open his mouth when adding pressure. The Irishman knits his eyebrows, thinking that they’re about to kiss, but Anti parts his lips and blows cigarette smoke into Jack’s mouth. The brown-haired man inhales, eyes burning and heart racing. He tries to suck everything while staring at those poisonous green eyes, but he gasps and chokes. Jack turns his face to cough and the moment is broken.

 

Anti laughs at him and Jack glares.

 

“W-What was that for?” he breathes and coughs again.

 

“You don’t want this to happen,” Anti points between them. “Don’t make a mistake.”

 

Jack frowns and looks down at him, thinking about it. “You’re acting like a jerk so I’ll be mad at you on purpose.”

 

Anti drags once again from the white object between his fingers and he suddenly pulls Jack by the collar, putting out the cigarette on the Irishman’s collarbone. Jack hisses, feeling his skin burning. Anti growls and presses his thumb over it, making Jack gasp. They exchange a look and he glares, wanting to show the hitman that he won’t leave so easily. Anti purses his lips, looking at Jack as if trying to figure him out as well, and he groans. The Irishman can feel tears in his eyes and he holds Anti’s face.

 

“I missed you, okay?” Jack sobs. “I fucking  _ missed _ you.”

 

Anti flips them over, taking Jack’s place and holding him by the waist. The Irishman gasps at the sudden motion, head falling onto the pillow, and Anti looks down at him, a reflection from a shattered mirror. Jack feels his breath hitting his cheeks and the green-haired man seeks something in the Irishman’s face. Jack begs with his eyes, tears falling down to his ears, and he shivers when Anti tightens the hold around his waist.

 

“If you let this happen… If you let me do this…” Anti whispers, resting his forehead against Jack’s and moving his hips a little. “I won’t stop. I won’t stop and you’ll be mine, alright? I won’t be kind and I’ll hurt you again, Jack. I’ll hurt you. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

 

Jack’s heart aches. Part of him is so scared of what could happen but he places his hands behind Anti’s neck nonetheless, trapping him too because of the rope. The green-haired man presses his black fingernails into Jack’s waist and he shakes his head.

 

“Y-Yeah…” Jack breathes, gathering courage to move his hands and caress Anti’s hair. “I’m scared... I’m really scared.”

 

“Then say no.”

 

The Irishman swallows.

 

“Say it!” Anti growls, trying to frighten him.

 

Jack shakes his head and sobs before pulling the man down until their lips clash, beards brushing. Anti groans into the kiss and the Irishman opens his mouth, letting the man’s split tongue slide inside and taste him. The tension between them snaps. The brown-haired man moans and tilts his head, locking his legs around Anti’s hips and being thankful for them being loose right now. Jack half moans, half sobs, and the green-haired man sucks on his bottom lip. The kiss is intense, deep, desperate. Both of them breathing and moving fast, wet lips making sound in the room. Anti threatens to devour his mouth and Jack grips his green hair, earning a grunt from the man.

 

Anti thrusts forward and Jack feels a wave of pleasure straight to his groin. They move together, getting hard and madly kissing. Anti plants hickeys on Jack’s neck and the Irishman gets lost in the feeling, looking up with hazy eyes. The green-haired man pulls Jack’s boxer briefs down and wraps a hand around his cock, stroking him. The Irishman curses out loud and pants while moving his hips up, wanting more. Anti grunts when Jack begins to leak precum and presses his thumb on a veiny spot.

 

“A-Ah!” the brown-haired man moans and pulls Anti’s hair, wishing his hands were free, wishing to scratch him until he bleeds.

 

The hitman unzips his own pants, pushing them with his underwear halfway down his legs. Jack sees Anti’s cock, leaking from his slit and curving up. The Irishman pants with his mouth open and his own dick pulses with want, too lost in pleasure. He whines when Anti touches himself and they kiss some more, biting each other’s lips. Jack groans into their mouths when he feels a finger inside him, without warning. Anti pays him no mind and starts stretching him with just their precum as lube. It makes the corner of the Irishman’s eyes fill with new tears because it stings, but he stays quiet. Anti did say he wasn’t going to be kind and there’s a side of Jack that begs for more.

 

Jack’s turned around on his stomach and, for a moment, panic takes over his heart and he loses control of his breathing. He feels disoriented and overwhelmed because he can’t move like this, eyes blurred with lust and fear. Anti brings him back by kissing his shoulder blades down to his ass, nipping his skin there. Jack yelps and looks over to see the man smirking. Somehow, that smile calms him down and the Irishman bites his lips when Anti penetrates him.

 

Tears fall from his sapphire eyes and his mouth falls in a silent scream, feeling himself being stretched by his cock. Anti doesn’t waste time and begins slamming his hips against Jack’s, skin smacking in the room. The Irishman wails and drools on the sheets while the green-haired man fucks him raw. It feels like all the air leaves his lungs with every thrust and Anti has to hold Jack so he won’t move away. The hitman lifts Jack’s ass and bends down to rest his forehead against the Irishman’s shoulder, and that makes his cock sink further inside.

 

Jack shouts and moans between their desperate moves, bed creaking. Anti grunting and panting next to his ear. He murmurs something about the gag and his voice is strained, tight. Jack half sobs, half laughs, not being sorry for being so loud. Anti’s thrusts turn erratic and he strokes Jack fast, making his toes curl.

 

“Fuck, _ fuck _ !” the brown-haired man gasps. “Anti!”

 

Jack pulses hard, coming on the hitman’s hand. He moans while his body spasms underneath Anti, jets of come hitting his stomach and chest over his shirt. Anti growls and bites Jack’s earlobe, finding his own orgasm and unloading inside the tied-up man. The Irishman’s thighs tremble and the green-haired man plants an open-mouth kiss on Jack’s neck, breathing in his scent. Anti doesn’t remove himself and just pulls the brown-haired man until they’re practically cuddling.

 

The hitman rubs his cheek on the Irishman’s shoulder blades and Jack sighs, trying to calm down his beating heart. He blinks slowly, high from ecstasy, and he melts in bed. Jack takes a deep breath, knowing that he’s reached a point of no return. This is it. He let himself get lost in those green eyes and now they’re here, catching their breaths after an intense and intimate moment. Fuck. This is bad. So bad. But it felt  _ so  _ good.

 

Jack shivers when Anti pulls himself out and he immediately feels semen leaking down his asshole, smearing his thighs. His heart sinks a little when the green-haired man gets up, pulling his pants back on. Jack’s thoughts suddenly hit him like a ton of bricks. He’s stupid for letting this happen, for thinking that something different would come out of this weird situation. Anti walks away. So stupid. Anti leaves. So fucking  _ stupid. _ The Irishman cries and scowls at himself, feeling ashamed.

 

“You’re crying again.”

 

The brown-haired man looks up to see Anti holding a damp towel from the bathroom and a glass of water. Jack’s stomach flips and he holds back a sigh of relief when he realizes that Anti went just to the bathroom. Shit.  _ Shit. _ This is worse than he thought it was.

 

Jack shrugs, sniffing and brushing tears away with his tied-up hands. “Shut up,” he murmurs.

 

Anti hums and sits next to him, placing the glass down and cleaning Jack’s mess with the towel. The man with the blue eyes watches him through long eyelashes, shivering and softly moaning whenever Anti’s hands brush on sensitive skin. Jack looks at his lips, red from kissing, and his disheveled green hair, sticking out in weird places. It makes Jack huff with a smile and that catches the man’s attention.

 

“What?” Anti asks and the Irishman shakes his head, still smiling.

 

“You’re making me lose my mind.”

 

The green-haired man purses his lips and leans forward to capture their mouths into a kiss, slower this time. Jack sighs and wants to pull him closer, but Anti breaks the kiss before he can do something about that. He removes Jack’s rope for a brief second, so he can take off his shirt, stained with cum, and the Irishman blushes at the sight. The green-haired man rubs Jack’s left cheek and tells him to stop crying for everything because, apparently, it makes Anti confused as well.

 

Jack huffs and pulls him by the collar, tasting him again. He sucks on Anti’s split tongue and kisses him between sighs. Anti hums and they have their eyes closed, feeling each other. Jack pulls him more, wanting him back in bed, wanting his warmth. The green-haired man gives in and Jack’s heart aches.

 

“Don’t leave…” he whispers into their mouths. “Please, don’t leave me again…”

 

Anti has a pained expression but he nods, fingers brushing on Jack’s beard and returning the kisses. He sighs and buries his face in the crook of Jack’s neck, making the boy shiver. The Irishman flushes at his naked state, only with a rope around his wrists, but says nothing. Anti pulls the covers over them and turns Jack around in the way he wants. The brown-haired man swallows, heart in his throat, and tries to relax his body. Anti sighs on the back of his neck and they fall asleep, legs tangled under the covers.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :^)


	5. Chapter 5

Jack wakes up alone and feeling cold.

 

He groans, shaking his sleepy state away, and his heart races when feeling the gag back on his mouth. Anti’s not there and Jack panics, not being able to shout. He’s still naked, covers halfway up his waist, and he takes deep breaths. There’s a brief moment where Jack’s terrified of Anti taking advantage of him, that everything was just a fucked up lie so he could sleep with the man. A fucktoy. Jack tries sitting up when the door opens and, honestly, he’s not sure if his heart will handle all these emotions. It’s nerve wracking.

 

Anti walks in with a plastic bag in hands and he doesn’t seem to be bothered by Jack angrily staring at him. He takes out chocolate bars from the bag and something else that makes the tip of Jack’s ears burn. Anti places a bottle of lube on the nightstand, next to an embarrassed Irishman, and he huffs. Jack’s grunts are muffled by the gag and the green-haired man sits down, pushing the gag down for a moment and unwrapping a chocolate like everything is normal.

 

“You asshole!” Jack finally speaks. “You _left!_ ”

 

“And?”

 

The simple and stupid question makes the Irishman’s frustration fade away. He’s right. And? So what? Jack’s the one trapped here and it’s odd that he has to force himself to remember that Anti kills people for a living. That he’s dangerous and sick. Jack clears his throat and shakes his head, dropping the subject. Anti caresses his hair, sighing, and the Irishman feels like a kid again that needs attention.

 

“I’ll always come back,” Anti murmurs and places a piece of chocolate into Jack’s mouth. “Even if I leave, I’ll always come back. Don’t you ever forget that.”

 

The Irishman blinks at the hitman, chocolate melting on his tongue, and he should feel freaked out hearing this. It’s creepy, stalker-like, invasive. However, Jack’s heart flutters and he nods while swallowing the chocolate, somehow content. Anti keeps feeding him, fingers smeared by the sweet and Jack leans forward after another piece to catch the man’s thumb. He licks and sucks on it, watching Anti’s gaze grow dark and hearing the man growl. Jack hums and the green-haired man curses out loud, moving closer to capture their lips in a harsh kiss.

 

Jack moans, tasting sweetness and Anti, and he tilts his head get more of it. The green-haired man bites and pulls Jack’s bottom lip until the tied-up man groans. Anti breaks the kiss to place the gag back in place and the Irishman whines. The hitman unzips his pants and pushes down his underwear, taking off his clothes. Jack swallows, staring at Anti completely naked, chest rising up and down. He brings Jack to sit on his lap and the Irishman puts his arms behind Anti’s back, holding himself. The brown-haired man flushes, already getting hard for all this display. Anti smirks.

 

“You’re such good boy...”

 

Jack squeaks and his eyes widen, flushing all over when Anti says that. The green-haired man moves them a bit so he can get the bottle of lube and the Irishman watches him lubricate their cocks, stroking them deliberately until they’re fully hard. Jack pants and moves his hips forward, wishing he could kiss that pinkish mouth again. Anti smirks and looks at him through long eyelashes, batting against freckled skin.

 

“Do you like it when I touch you like that?” Anti whispers into his ear and Jack nods, ears burning. The hitman’s hand goes down to Jack’s asshole and the tied-up man shivers. “Are you still loose?”

 

Jack tightens his hold around Anti’s neck when the man inserts two fingers inside him, scissoring him a couple of times. In and out. In and out. The brown-haired man tenses up but Anti growls, coaxing him until Jack’s sobbing and thrusting into his fingers. The Irishman’s heart beats like a bird flapping its wings inside his ribcage and his cock pulses with want. Anti bites his earlobe, removing his fingers to hold his own cock.

 

“Ride me.”

 

The brown-haired man feels his whole body burn with embarrassment but he does what he’s told, lifting his hips just enough to sink down into Anti’s cock. Jack breathes hard through his nose and loosens up his body to take all of him. Anti moans and rests his hands over Jack’s hips, black nails marking porcelain skin with half-moons. Jack takes a deep breath, moving up until he feels the tip of Anti’s cock and slamming down. They gasp and Jack fucks himself between moans. Anti grunts and watches the brown-haired man seek pleasure, lustful eyes consuming him.

 

Jack thrusts with all his strength, sobbing and feeling his cock brush against their stomachs with every move. Everything that leaves Anti’s mouth is dirty and they make obscene sounds in the room. Jack pulls his green hair and tries shouting through the gag, sweet spot being abused over and over. He’s leaking precum and the tip of his head is red, swollen. Jack hides his face in the crook of Anti’s neck and his thighs tremble.

 

“Fuck…” Anti’s voice is strained. “You feel so good…”

 

Jack makes desperate sounds, losing the pace of his movements, and Anti takes over. He slams into Jack over and over, holding his hips, and the Irishman drools through the gag. Jack’s eyes roll back and his toes curl, heat below his stomach growing stronger. Anti’s breathing is sharp and cut off by gasps. Jack cries out when he comes onto their bellies, pulling more of Anti’s hair. The green-haired man groans and finds his orgasm soon after, filling the boy up. Anti jerks Jack through their orgasms until they’re both spent, and the brown-haired man feels like jello.

 

The green-haired man brushes his lips over Jack’s collarbone, where he burned him, and the tied-up man feels goosebumps when the beard tickles him. They look at each other, both with glassy eyes and messy hair, and Jack dies a little inside. He grunts, moving his head so Anti can understand, and the hitman sighs, pushing the gag down. Jack immediately goes for Anti’s mouth, passionately kissing him. The green-haired man touches Jack’s hair and back, bringing him impossibly closer. The Irishman squeezes his ass and Anti moans, cock still inside him.

 

Jack breaks the kiss just enough to rest their foreheads together and he sighs, breathing in the same air as the man. Anti licks Jack’s lips, making the boy gasp and huff a smile. The hitman’s eyes fall to his mouth, finger brushing his chin.

 

“I like it when you smile,” he murmurs.

 

The Irishman doesn’t know how to answer to that, how to feel. Instead, he plants chaste kisses on Anti’s lips and tries pushing back any dark thoughts that will ruin this moment. The green-haired man slowly gets up with Jack still clinging on him, legs locking around his hips. Jack lets out soft gasps, feeling Anti’s cock, and they walking into the bathroom. The hitman pulls himself out and places Jack on the edge of the tub so he can fill it with water. Jack’s legs are trembling and he tells Anti that he won’t be able to move without falling right now.

 

Anti snorts and takes him in his arms, getting inside the bathtub as well. Jack leans back to rest his back against the hitman’s chest and Anti deliberately washes them. The Irishman flinches when water hits the burn on his collarbone and Anti grumbles, saying he’ll probably have to take care of that too. Jack bites his lips, holding back the urge to shout at the man for doing this stupid thing, and just takes a deep breath. He looks up to see Anti, hair wet over his forehead and his finger twitches.

 

“I wanna touch you…” Jack whispers. The green-haired man eyes the rope around the Irishman’s wrists and he swallows. Jack watches his Adam’s apple move and a drop of water streaming down his neck, over the scar. “Please. Just for a moment.”

 

Jack feels more than he hears Anti growling and he holds his breath when the man unties him, rope dropped onto the tiled floor. The Irishman slowly turns around to face Anti and the green-haired man helps him to adjust, holding his back. Jack’s hands touch Anti’s face, fingers brushing over the man’s brows, nose and cheeks. Jack caresses the man’s hair freely, watching him close his eyes at the feeling. The Irishman touches his freckles on his shoulders and unconsciously makes the same motion that Anti did before, one hand on his hair while the other goes down to his navel.

 

The brown-haired man feels Anti’s muscles tensing up as he goes and he leans forward to kiss him briefly, not resisting. Jack kisses and bites his scar, humming when Anti moans and tightens his hold on Jack’s back. The Irishman touches the man’s cock underwater, tentatively giving him a few strokes. Anti opens his mouth and lets his head fall, resting on the porcelain tub, and Jack gains more confidence. Despite his wrist aching, Jack groans under his breath and begins jerking him off. Anti’s dick harden again around his hand and he licks his lips at the sight.

 

Jack makes a pained sound when he twists his hand and Anti opens his eyes, bringing him closer and wrapping his hand over Jack’s. The Irishman bites Anti’s earlobe like he usually does to Jack and he hears the man growl, jerking faster. The brown-haired man tugs on his hair and covers Anti’s neck with kisses. The hitman’s chest moves up and down, cock pulsing. Jack presses his thumb on the tip of his head and strokes him one more time, watching Anti’s face when he comes. The man knits his eyebrows and pants through an open mouth, spasming underneath Jack.

 

“Fuck!” Anti groans and takes wet hair away from his forehead.

 

Jack’s breathless, realizing he jerked off his kidnapper in a bathtub, and he enjoyed it because he’s half-hard underwater. They stare at each other and Anti looks so beautiful with that blissful face, water reflecting them. Is it bad that he thinks Anti’s beautiful even though they’re alike? Jack blinks and it feels like his heart is tangled in strings, filled with knots that he can’t bring himself to undo. Anti seems to sense the shift in the air and he pulls Jack by his chin, narrowing his eyes.

 

The Irishman shakes his head and buries his face on the man’s neck, breathing him in. Anti caresses his hair and Jack’s torn between these sweet and angry moments. It makes him feel confused, lost and scared. They stay like that until the water turns cold, Jack resting his chest against Anti’s. He doesn’t remembering dozing off but, apparently, he did because Anti shakes him awake so they can get dry. The green-haired man still keeps Jack undressed and takes him back to bed.

 

Jack shudders and tells Anti he’s freezing, wanting some clothes. The hitman purses his lips, looking at him up and down, making the Irishman blush. Anti seems to think for a moment, but ends up saying _No_. Jack glares and the man ties him up again, bringing him something to eat and water afterwards. The brown-haired man looks at them, both naked in bed in front of each other while eating an apple. Vulnerable, defenseless. Jack swallows, feeling a raw emotion carving into his heart and settling in. Anti seems so unperturbed by all of this, so calm in these little moments. He’s not even frowning. Damn.

 

“You stare at me a lot,” Anti says, slicing a piece of the fruit with that pocket knife.

 

Jack snorts and opens his mouth when the man gives him a slice of apple on the edge of the knife. The Irishman thinks he needs a drink. And therapy. But definitely a drink first. He sighs and lets Anti adjust him in bed once they’re done eating. The green-haired man still walks around the apartment butt-naked, doing what he does while Jack stays in bed. Anti’s faint footsteps eases the boy’s mind, somehow relieved to hear him and knowing he’s not alone. Jack buries his face into the pillow and falls asleep.

 

_“Jack.”_

 

_The Irishman stirs himself awake to see Anti hovering over him, scowling as if he’s been calling for a long time and the boy didn’t listen. The brown-haired man gasps when Anti suddenly kisses him, harshly and unwelcome. Anti’s eyes are pure darkness when looking back at him and Jack’s horrified, panic taking over his weak heart. The green-haired man smiles with sharp teeth and Jack feels his cock brushing against his thigh. The Irishman shudders and shakes his head, not liking this._

 

_Anti laughs, voice echoing, and Jack screams when his cock penetrates him. Tears fall down from the boy’s face and he shouts for the hitman to stop. The Irishman sobs and Anti’s cold dark eyes look down at him. Sneering, mocking. Jack screams again before the man gags him up, shutting his mouth while fucking him. It feels wrong and it hurts, it hurts. Anti growls like an animal, holding his face so the boy will look back at him no matter what. Jack grimaces, wanting to scream that it hurts, wanting to make him stop. He thrashes himself against the man, in a dark room with no walls. No door. Nowhere to escape._

 

_He screams his lungs out, even through the gag, and Anti’s laugh echos everywhere._

 

“Jack!”

 

The brown-haired man wakes up with a gasp, pushing the covers with his hands so he can sit up. He sucks in air, heart beating frantically, and he’s sweating. When Jack looks to his sides, Anti’s there with wide eyes and messy hair asking what happened. Jack’s stomach folds and the boy makes a gagging sound. He immediately gets up on wobbly legs, falling once on the floor, and he runs towards the bathroom. Jack pushes the lid from the toilet up and he vomits, body shaking. He’s conscious of the burn on his collarbone stinging and his throat is burning.

 

Jack feels a hand on his shoulder and he flinches, moving away and not looking at Anti crouching next to him on the floor. The hand retreats and he hears the man groaning softly under his breath, not understanding.

 

“You were screaming,” Anti whispers. Jack shakes like a leaf and he bursts into tears, ugly crying. “Jack. What happened?”

 

“ _What happened?_ ” the Irishman shouts, clenching his hands into fists and finally staring at the man’s eyes. They’re not dark like in his nightmare and Jack wheezes. “I’ve been kidnapped by my double, who was meant to kill me and refuses to tell me what the fuck is going on! And now I’m just your _fucktoy!_ I just-, I can’t-! I’m so _confused!_ ”

 

“I told you that you were making a big mistake but you still asked for it!” Anti says.

 

“FUCK YOU!” Jack yells, throat scratching and he’s shaking _so_ fucking much. Anti sends him a look, as if he wasn’t expecting such anger coming from him. “I wan-... I want to _hate_ you!” Jack sobs and he feels so overwhelmed that he lies down on the tiled floor, curling himself. “Why can’t I hate you?” he murmurs.

 

Anti takes a deep breath and scratches his head, resting his back against the bathroom wall. Jack wants him to leave but they stay in silence, that goddamn silence, and he calms down his beating heart. The Irishman lets out small whimpers, trying to forget about that awful nightmare. Part of him is already screaming at him, telling Jack that Anti wouldn’t do that, that it was just a dream. He feels a pang in his heart and he sniffs, shivering from the cold. They’re still naked and Jack can’t bring himself to move, feeling out of it.

 

It feels like hours have passed when Anti moves again and Jack doesn’t stir, too tired.

 

“Don’t… touch me…” The Irishman’s words are slurred, slow, not quite present, and Anti doesn’t listen to him.

 

The hitman unties Jack’s hands and picks him up bridal-style, placing the boy in bed. Jack’s eyes are not focusing anywhere, mind blurry and drained. He sees Anti’s silhouette through the corner of his eye, wordlessly moving around after so much shouting. The quietness buzzes in Jack’s ears and he stays still. Anti comes with a glass of water and long coat in his hands. He pulls Jack’s arms like a ragdoll, giving him water. The Irishman feels the coat wrapping around him, Anti dressing him up with it, and it’s warm. Then, Anti lies down and moves them until Jack’s face is resting against his chest. The hitman caresses his brown hair.

 

“We have this… instruction... when it comes to our double,” Anti talks and his voice is soft, barely a whisper. “If we find our doppelgangers, we need to make a report and receive the order to eliminate them.”

 

Jack’s hands twitch and he blinks, slowly coming back to himself and listening to the man.

 

“I wasn’t planning to find you, so I just watched. I watched your life for a couple of months and I didn’t tell them about you.”

 

The Irishman tries pushing himself up, just enough to see Anti’s face. They look at each other and Jack takes a deep breath, lips quivering. “W-Who’s _them_?” he mumbles.

 

“I’m just saying...” Anti knits his eyebrows and ignores Jack’s question. “You’re different and I’ll still keep you with me. But if you don’t want me to do that again, just say it. I don’t want you whining all the time, it’s fucking annoying.”

 

The brown-haired man rests his forehead against Anti’s and he sighs, surrounded by the man’s scent. The long coat is soft on his skin and he moves his hands up, caressing the hitman’s face. Jack looks at Anti’s left eyebrow, seeing the cut there from the night he was so beaten up. He remembers how scared he was, how terrifying it seemed to lose this man despite all the hurting he’s causing to Jack. He also remembers how good it felt to be in his arms, being full and heart beating so fast that left them breathless. The Irishman swallows, grimacing at how his throat is still sore from screaming.

 

“You’re making it difficult to hate you…” Jack whispers, noses brushing. “Even when you’re a jerk…”

 

Anti hums and boops their noses, making the boy snort. God. What are they? What is this? Jack purses his lips and buries his face in the crook of Anti’s neck, hugging him with free arms and their legs tangled. The long coat is like a blanket for both of them and the sound of their heartbeats lulles Jack back to sleep, and, this time, he doesn’t have nightmares.

 

The Irishman wakes up with a rested mind, stirring himself awake to find Anti still next to him. The hitman’s holding Jack’s hand over his chest and the brown-haired man feels warm for the first time in weeks. He stares at their hands and moves a little so he can entwine their fingers together. Jack parts his lips in deep thought, embracing the feeling and listening to their breathing. When he looks up, Anti’s watching him through half-lidded eyes and Jack tightens their hold. Anti brushes his thumb on the boy’s skin and sighs.

 

“I’m… I’m sorry for yelling…” Jack murmurs with a hoarse voice, realizing how panicked and desperate he must’ve sounded. Anti just nods once and blinks softly, groggy from sleep and not frowning. “I like you like this…”

 

Anti hums and Jack’s heart flutters. They stay like this for a little longer, both not wanting to get up and just rest. Jack gathers pieces of his mind back together, wanting to think rationally and not freak out like yesterday. Anti sighs, knitting his eyebrows, and Jack knows he’s fully awake now. The green-haired man gets up and stretches himself, scar on his back dancing along with his muscles. Jack looks at the man’s butt and flushes, admiring it. He goes to the bathroom and comes back with the rope, eyeing the Irishman before doing anything.

 

Jack sits up in bed, getting near the man, and he touches Anti’s hips. The Irishman explores the man’s body with his fingers, brushing over scars and old wounds. Anti’s muscles tense up whenever Jack touches him and he caresses the man’s thighs, feeling him. The brown-haired man rests his head against Anti’s belly and sighs, hugging him by the waist and kissing him below the navel. Anti shudders and caresses Jack’s hair, so tender-like. The Irishman tells Anti that he wants to keep the coat on and the hitman grumbles, but doesn’t deny it. Jack puts his hands up, willing, and Anti ties the rope around them. Their touch lingers, eyes locked.

 

The Irishman drops his hands and he thinks that him wanting to be tied-up was quite the view, because Anti’s getting hard. The hitman holds the Irishman’s cheeks and Jack can feel Anti’s want to bury his face on his cock, but he stays still. Jack looks up, remembering everything that has happened between them, remembering last night. Anti waits for him to say something, thumb brushing Jack’s lips until the boy opens his mouth. Jack sighs.

 

“I-I…” he swallows, hesitating for a moment and feeling his face heat-up. “I want to taste you.”

 

Anti growls and Jack leans down to lick his cock, kissing and putting all of it in his mouth. The hitman tightens his grip on Jack’s hair and the Irishman tastes Anti with his tongue. Jack hums when he feels Anti’s erection growing, slowly pushing him back. The brown-haired man breathes fast through his nose and he moves his head up and down, sucking on the hitman’s warm and swollen cock. Anti’s moans are like honey to his ears and Jack, without thinking, lightly scrapes his teeth on his erection and Anti makes a choking sound. He tugs Jack’s hair and thrusts his hips forward, not far enough to gag the boy. The brown-haired man wants to say _Sorry_ but Anti doesn’t set him free and just continues to fuck his mouth.

 

Jack’s heart speeds up and his own cock is pulsing with want, tip tricking precum onto the sheets. Anti groans and the brown-haired man moans. The hitman’s breathing turns sharper and shorter, coming into the boy’s pretty mouth. Anti’s voice is tense when he tells him to swallow all of it and Jack’s mouth is filled with warm semen. The brown-haired man swallows as much as he can, trying not to gag and breathe. Anti pulls out and strokes himself harshly, jets of come falling on Jack’s cheek and mouth. The Irishman groans, moving his hands to touch himself, only to have Anti batting them away.

 

He pushes Jack so the boy can fall on his back in bed and Anti pulls his legs up, spreading Jack’s legs. The Irishman takes deep breaths, mind fuzzy and heart warm, and he shouts when Anti leans down to lick his asshole. He gasps, opening his legs more and raising his hips. Anti bites his pinkish skin there and his split tongue penetrates Jack, sucking on him. The brown-haired man looks up at the ceiling, glassy eyes and mouth ajar that lets out needy, whiny sounds. Jack pants, feeling Anti’s tongue moving in and out of his asshole. The hitman’s nails dig into his skin and one hand strokes Jack’s leaking cock. The tied-up man whimpers and moves his hips, wanting more of him. Jack fucks himself onto Anti’s split tongue and he cries out, pulsing hard and coming onto his stomach.

 

“O-Oh, god!” Jack shouts.

 

Jack convulses in bed, orgasm overwhelming him, and he sees white. Anti continues to jerk him off, humming and watching Jack with those piercing green eyes. The brown-haired man sucks in air, lungs burning and his legs are tense. Anti moves up, licking his own cum on Jack’s face and then kissing him with strength. Jack grimaces at first but moans, tasting themselves in their mouths. It’s disgusting and messy, but he doesn’t care in this moment. The Irishman shudders when they break the kiss, a string of saliva between them. Anti grunts, planting more hickeys on Jack’s neck and chest. The brown-haired man feels high with ecstasy, body finally relaxing and legs locking around Anti’s hips.

 

It feels like Jack’s heart won’t be able to feel all of this. It’s too much. Breathtaking, Overpowering. Anti finally looks up at Jack and the Irishman brings his hands up, finger brushing over the man’s lips and beard. Anti lets the boy touch him and that makes Jack smile. Anti _lets_ him. He pulls the hitman by the chin and this time, their lips move slowly. It’s a chaste kiss that calms him down, so endearing. A weird contrast in the middle of this mess. Anti rubs their noses together and Jack can’t help but chuckle, a hiccup laugh filing the room.

 

The green-haired man watches him and the Irishman’s not bothered by it, tightening his legs around Anti’s hips. Jack hums, getting lost in his eyes, both admiring each other in the quietness of the room.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah yes I love starting the year updating fanfiction hahaha!  
> Also, I couldn't resist and I created a storyboard for this story that you can find [here.](https://pinterest.com/sparklepines/anti-character-design/narcissus-gaze/) It's in the same board as my Anti one! The Narcissus Gaze board is a bit more explicit so be warned hahah ♥


	6. Chapter 6

Anti leaves the apartment after a while and Jack’s left alone, wearing only the long coat from the hitman and sighing in bed. The Irishman rests his back against the bed frame, legs pulled up and face red. Jack can still feel the ghostly touch of Anti, lingering on his skin. He blushes, brushing his fingers around his neck covered in hickeys. The tied-up man is marked by Anti in different ways and he feels the burn with ointment on his collarbone, the hitman taking care of it. Jack takes this moment alone to think, to not let his heart blind him.

 

Anti said they are supposed to report whenever they find their doppelganger. Jack can only assume that there are more hitmen out there in the world that work for… someone, a company or whatever the fuck they are. But that means they have instructions, rules that Anti is clearly breaking to keep Jack to himself. The brown-haired man bites his bottom lip, thinking about it. Does this mean they are not safe? Since when did Jack start to think as _they_ anyway? God. This is bad. He’s starting to feel too much. Jack didn’t ask for any of this, but would he deny all of that now and go back to his ordinary life? Would he?

 

He looks at the rope marking his skin and remembers how thrilling it was not having control while Anti fucked him, despite fear still kissing his heart. Maybe Jack’s sick too. Maybe the boy had a twisted mind all along and Anti just brought that to the surface. The green-haired man is oddly sweet sometimes but awfully angry, lashing out at Jack and breaking things. Jack’s starting to catch up on his behavior, knowing where to push or stop. He inhales, the bedroom smells of sex and tobacco. It sends a sparks through Jack’s body, feeling a mix of arousal and embarrassament.

 

Jack gets up, knowing Anti left the bedroom door unlocked for him, and he walks into the living room. The brown-haired man pushes a curtain from a window just a little and his blue eyes find the outside world once again. He sees snow falling from a dark sky, and below, the streets are surrounded by lights. Jack checks the date on the television, realizing it’s December 21st. He turns the TV off, getting used to the quiet, and goes to the kitchen. Jack looks around and can’t bring himself to do anything. He _could_. He could try making a sandwich and eating carefully with those tied-up hands. He just doesn’t want to, because Anti’s not here.

 

Instead, he sits on the couch and watches the snowflakes from the small gap he left in the curtains. Jack leans back, long coat exposing his naked chest, and he dozes off a couple of times. The Irishman tells himself not to worry and just wait for the hitman. Wait for him. The quietness is ringing in his ears and he sighs, pulling the long coat more to keep him warm. Jack takes a deep breath, half-asleep, and Anti’s scent makes him hum. It’s citric and sharp. Grounding.

 

Jack stirs himself awake when he hears a key in the front door and he turns around to see Anti’s silhouette in the doorway, practically falling on the floor. Jack’s eyes widen and he jumps off of the couch, looking at the man. Anti groans and locks the door, resting his back against it with heavy breaths. He has a black eye and his nose is running blood. Jack’s heart speeds up and he runs towards Anti, hands immediately touching his face. Anti holds Jack’s arms, keeping himself up.

 

“W-What happened to you?!” Jack asks, shaky voice from anxiety suddenly hitting him. “Y-You’re hurt!”

 

Anti grunts, leaning his head towards Jack’s hand, and he pulls the Irishman closer for a sudden kiss. Jack knits his eyebrows, tasting blood in his mouth and not understanding. He’s worried and Anti’s not telling him anything. They just kiss and Jack lets him suck on his tongue. Anti hugs him tight, hands moving all over his body as if making sure he’s still there and Jack frowns even more, heart in his throat. The green-haired man takes off his shirt and unzips his pants, and Jack gasps at the sight. Anti’s torso is beaten up, cuts and dry blood everywhere. Jack whimpers.

 

“Anti…”

 

The hitman growls, clearly not wanting Jack to speak, and he flips them around. The Irishman gasps when he’s pushed against the wall and Anti pulls the boy’s legs up to his waist, keeping him in place. Jack moans when Anti pulls out his cock and touches them, head falling back. His moves are desperate and frenetic. Jack pants heavily and he fidgets with the rope, wanting to touch Anti. They both groan in frustration and the hitman takes out a pocket knife to cut the goddamn thing, releasing him. Jack scratches Anti’s chest and hugs the man, bringing him closer. He thrusts forward and touches the hitman’s scar on his back, digging his nails on skin. Anti moans and shoves his fingers in Jack’s mouth.

 

“Suck,” Anti breathes.

 

The Irishman closes his eyes while moving his head, sucking on Anti’s fingers until they’re covered in saliva and blood. Anti stretches him open and Jack’s mouth falls, heart fluttering and cock throbbing. Jack’s eyes fill with tears and he chokes when Anti shoves in a third finger. The hitman pauses for a brief second, green eyes locked in blue.

 

“D-Don’t be gentle,” Jack moans and moves his hips, feeling the man’s fingers inside him. “Keep going.”

 

Anti growls and works on him a little more before removing his fingers. They exchange a look, a second of silence in the middle of all of this, and Jack nods. Anti penetrates him and the Irishman shouts when they thrust at the same time. Jack runs his hands down the man’s back, feeling his muscles. He grabs Anti’s asscheeks and digs his nails in. The hitman grunts and fucks Jack against the wall mercilessly, grinding his teeth at the sound of their skin smacking over and over. They’re chest-to-chest, breathing the same air and moaning out loud. Anti thrusts harder, tightening his grip on Jack’s hips, and the boy wails.

 

“Oh, god! Don’t stop!” Jack sobs. “A-Ah, Anti!”

 

He hides his face on Anti’s neck, smearing his cheek with blood and moaning into the man’s ear. Jack’s cock brushes against their stomachs and his body tenses up, feeling his prostate being abused, shock waves overwhelming him. Jack doesn’t understand why the sudden anger and lust is coming from the hitman, why he’s so beaten up and why h-

 

Jack comes with a silent scream, body spasming with waves of pleasure.

 

 _“Fuck!”_ Anti’s strained voice reaches his ears, feeling Jack’s asshole clenching with his orgasm.

 

The green-haired man unloads inside the Irishman, filling him up, and Jack whimpers. Anti covers him with kisses, licking Jack’s neck. He moves the boy’s face to kiss him on the mouth, breathing hard through his nose, and Jack sighs. The Irishman’s weak body trembles and Anti’s legs give up, making them fall onto the floor. Jack wraps his arms around the man’s neck, tears falling while caressing his green hair. They catch their breaths and Anti doesn’t seem to let go of him, soft cock inside the boy.

 

“Anti…” Jack whispers and moves his face to caresses the man’s cheek. His right black eye makes the boy’s lip quiver, worried. “Talk to me…”

 

The hitman whimpers and it’s an odd sound coming from him. “I’ve just…” he starts, knitting his eyebrows. “Someone I worked with suspected I was hiding something and he followed me here... I just… I had to, okay? I _had_ to kill him,” he groans. “I couldn’t risk him finding out about you. I just couldn’t.”

 

Jack’s eyes widen, realizing Anti fought and killed a man to keep him to himself. A man that he probably knew and who knows if they were friends. He rubs Anti’s cheeks, processing this thought about them almost being caught and Anti risking his life. The hitman tells him that people might notice the sudden death of one of them, so they have to be careful. Well, Anti has to be careful because, apparently, they’re picking up on his change of behavior and frequent disappearances. Jack can’t do much but stay here waiting for him. What if he doesn’t come back? What if they find out and go for Anti first, for breaking the rules? Jack’s breathing picks up again, feeling frightened.

 

“All I could think of when fighting that son of a bitch was you,” Anti whispers. “Here. Locked up. And if one of them ever touches a finger to your hair, I’ll fucki-”

 

“Okay, okay, I got it!” Jack interrupts him, pressing his thumb over the man’s lips. “I’m here.”

 

“You’re mine,” the green-haired growls and tightens his hold around the Irishman. Jack gasps and shudders at the possessive tone. “Say it.”

 

The brown-haired man looks at Anti, bloody face marked with a scowl. The dark circles under his eyes are deeper, his skin is pale and smeared by dry blood. He needs to trim his beard and he looks exhausted. Jack brushes his finger over Anti’s scar on his neck, feeling the faint line beneath his skin. The Irishman’s heart swells and he takes it all in, watching the hitman who just murdered someone to protect them. His long eyelashes bat against freckled skin, green eyes gazing at Jack, at a crooked mirror.

 

“Y-Yeah…” the Irishman breathes. “I’m yours.”

 

Anti groans, satisfied with Jack’s answer, and the brown-haired man kisses him. The hitman sighs and slowly pulls himself out of Jack, cum trickling from his asshole and smearing his thighs. Jack shivers and murmurs something about them getting themselves clean. Anti struggles to get up, groaning and holding onto his stomach. When Jack touches his shoulder, Anti sends him a glare but the Irishman ignores him, bringing the man’s arm around his neck for support. They limp their way to the bathroom and, this time, it’s Jack who prepares the bath. It feels weird, being the one to take care of Anti, but he does it nonetheless.

 

Jack takes off the long coat before they enter the bathtub and Anti hisses when the water splashes over the cuts, stinging. The Irishman washes them, focusing on the hitman and trying not to take too long. Anti rubs his fingers over Jack’s bruised wrists, kissing him there and making the boy shiver. Jack cleans the man’s nose, scrubbing blood from his skin and beard. He dries them up, being careful with Anti’s wounds, and the hitman murmurs where some clothes are. Jack goes to the other smaller bathroom to grab that forgotten duffel bag, pausing for a moment to search for a med kit. He dresses them in boxer briefs and takes Anti by the hand, making him sit on a chair in the kitchen.

 

The Irishman opens the med kit and his eyes wander everywhere. “I… I don’t know where to start. I’ve never done this before…”

 

“I can take care of myself,” Anti murmurs but grimaces when moving forward, hoping to take the med kit from Jack.

 

“Anti, I swear to god, this is not the time for being an idiot.”

 

The green-haired man purses his lips but ends up telling Jack what to do, guiding him while the Irishman follows all his instructions. Jack applies an antibiotic ointment over some minor cuts on Anti’s chest and unpacks the gauze to place over a large one on his left hip. The Irishman swallows when a gash on Anti’s bicep is still running with a little bit of blood and he curses under his breath when the hitman tells him to grab the needle. Jack gets up to take Anti’s matches from his pants on the floor, and he sterilizes the object. The boy’s fingers are trembling when adding the thread and Anti tells him how to do it, voice low. Jack slowly stitches him up, biting his bottom lip and trying not to blink.

 

Once he’s done, Jack leans back to look at what he did and he grimaces. Anti will definitely have more scars and purple bruises will form on his stomach after a couple of hours, probably from being kicked. God. This is horrible. He hates this. He _hates_ this. Jack drags a hand over his face, sighing heavily. Anti finally moves to pick his pants up from the floor and takes a pack of cigarettes from it, dropping them back again with no care. The man lights one up with shaky hands and Jack blinks, feeling exhausted. He steals the cigarette from the man and places it in his mouth, dragging from it. Smoke fills Jack’s lungs and his head swims.

 

Anti watches him and his pupils dilate at the sight. Jack gives it back and coughs, smoke leaving his nose and mouth. The hitman smirks and puts the cigarette between his lips with bandaged fingers, knuckles raw from beating up a man. They stay like that, in the kitchen, sharing a cigarette and something more. The quietness shifts, a new sense of danger and insecurity in the air that does not belong to his kidnapper anymore. Jack purses his lips and the ashes fall between them like the snow from that dark sky.

 

They go back to the room and lie down in bed. Jack’s still free and the idea of leaving hasn’t crossed his mind since the ropes fell on the floor. He plays with Anti’s hair, feeling soft locks tangle around his fingers, and the hitman rests his head on Jack’s chest. The green-haired man wraps his arms around Jack’s waist, half of his body on top of the Irishman. Jack’s fingers wander down his back, touching that long scar on his shoulder. Anti shudders and nuzzles his nose up the boy’s neck. It’s so oddly domestic. Foreign, yet endearing.

 

In that moment, Jack’s heart aches and he sucks in air. Anti notices the boy’s sudden racing heart and raises his head to look at him. Jack swallows and he shakes his head, not daring to speak what he just came in realization. Anti narrows his eyes but doesn’t press the matter, going back to his previous position while Jack has an inner panic attack. He recalls how frightened he was when waking up here, a little more than a month ago, and look at where he is now. Anti’s carrying his heart and there’s a new thought in his mind that wants them to be safe. Jack stares at his untied hands, unsure of what to do with them, with himself.

 

They fall asleep, holding each other, and Jack wakes up to see Anti half across the bed with disheveled hair. He has his back towards Jack and the Irishman comes closer, fingers touching his scars. Jack sighs and plants a kiss on Anti’s shoulder, feeling the marred skin on his lips. The brown-haired man kisses the hitman until he wakes up, groaning and moving his face to look at Jack through half-lidded eyes. Anti stretches his body only to grunt at his sore limbs and the Irishman purses his lips, pushing the covers to see Anti’s purple bruises.

 

Anti gets up and Jack, without a second thought, follows him. He feels a little lightheaded when standing but he ignores it. Jack sees the hitman take a painkiller from the medicine cabinet and drink water straight from the tap. Jack’s eyes widen when Anti pushes the toilet lid up so he can pee, and the Irishman waits for the embarrassment to hit him but it doesn’t. It feels normal. He scratches his head, knowing his mind is fucked beyond repair and he just mumbles something about Anti not forgetting to shave his beard. Jack walks out of the bathroom, vision swimming, and he supports himself on the nightstand.

 

The brown-haired man misses the long coat and he looks around, finding it across the room. Jack can hear the water running from the tap and Anti shaving his beard. He walks over where the garment is with wobbly legs and he knits his eyebrows while crouching down. Jack feels a sudden rush of cold, fingers trembling and head throbbing. The corner of his vision begins to turn black and the boy groans.

 

“Shit…” he whispers and passes out, body falling limp onto the floor.

  


✁ ✂ ✃

  


There are footsteps coming closer and a heavy huff before Jack wakes up, still on the cold hard floor. He groans and blinks, trying to gather his bearings. Anti’s standing in front of him with a scowl and Jack’s head hurts. The green-haired man purses his lips.

 

“You’re weak,” Anti says. “You haven’t been eating, have you?” Jack swears out loud and sighs, shaking his head. “Why?”

 

The Irishman flushes at that and stays quiet, eyes looking down and not wanting to admit how used he got to the man feeding him instead. Anti sighs and, when he picks him up from the floor, Jack whines and tries pointing at the coat. The hitman seems to pause for a moment before grabbing the goddamn garment and standing up. Jack groans again, feeling his body shaking and stomach hurting. Anti places him in bed, removing the boy’s boxer briefs and dressing him with just the long coat again. Jack lies down and waits for the green-haired man to come back with some food.

 

Not only wasn’t he eating but Anti came back so suddenly and scared the shit out of Jack. They had sex right away and all that panic probably caused his body to shut down as well. Jack feels everything right now and he places an arm over his face, shielding himself from the artificial lights. Anti walks into the room and Jack perks up when he smells food, looking up to see the hitman with a steaming bowl in his hands. Turning off the lights, he sits next to the boy and the Irishman widens his eyes at the sight.

 

“You made me noodles.” Jack says with a deadpan voice, not believing this assassin. “You made me fucking noodles.”

 

“Eat,” Anti scowls and feeds the boy.

 

Jack eats, opening his mouth to get more of it, and he closes his hands so he won’t touch Anti like a clingy person. Despite the desire to hold him or just tug on his arm like a kid, he contains himself. It’s silly. He shouldn’t be having these desires, these thoughts. This is a person who hurt him, continues to. Anti’s furious, reckless and extremely possessive, wanting to keep Jack here just for himself. Unhealthy. Dangerous. Bizarre. Jack should hate him, feel as disgusted as he was in the beginning. And yet…

 

“You’re overthinking,” the hitman murmurs, knitting his eyebrows to show his annoyance.

 

“Sometimes it’s…” the Irishman whispers, looking down at the tousled sheets and sighing. “Overwhelming, I guess.”

 

Silence follows, embracing them like a blanket, and Jack finishes eating. Anti takes the bowl to the kitchen and comes back to clean the Irishman’s face. Jack clenches his hands even more and he avoids looking at Anti in the eyes. The brown-haired man feels warm, stomach full, and he knows that he’ll be better soon after this. The hitman stares at him and Jack pulls his legs closer, feeling small under his gaze. The long coat brushes against his bare skin, shuffling with the movement, and Anti frowns. He leans forward and Jack leans back, head softly hitting the bed frame. It’s impossible to avoid those green eyes now, so close to him.

 

Anti scans him for a moment and grunts, knowing that Jack’s thoughts are making him act this way. The green-haired man stands up abruptly to leave the room and the Irishman grimaces, worried that he upset Anti. However, the hitman comes back holding a freaking _gun_ and Jack’s blood runs cold, back pressing against the bed frame and wide eyes. He eyes the weapon and then at Anti, carrying an unreadable expression. Jack’s breathing kicks up and the boy doesn’t dare to move.

 

“Relax,” he says while walking closer to sit again, sighing. “This is a pistol, a Glock Twenty-Six. Nine millimeters, semi-automatic,” Anti continues and shows the gun to the trembling boy who’s understanding absolutely nothing.

 

He points at a small button on the side of the grip, explaining how to take the magazine off. Jack swallows when he sees that there are indeed bullets in there and Anti puts it back on, pulling the barrel back. Anti shows Jack how the pistol works and the Irishman doesn’t know why he’s doing that, so suddenly. The green-haired man murmurs that the shells will fall after every shot and that it has double recoil, meaning it’ll cushion the impact for him a little more.

 

“The trigger has to be pulled all the way back to fire, you hear me?” he mumbles and pulls out the magazine once again, pulling the barrel back to show the boy that it’s empty now. “Can you stand up now or will you pass out on me again?”

 

“I’m… Y-Yeah? I can… Why?” Jack whispers.

 

“Then stand up,” Anti orders him and they both get up from bed. The Irishman fidgets with the long coat. “Hold it.”

 

“W-What?” Jack stutters.

 

Anti gives him a face that screams _Just do what I say_ and the Irishman curses under his breath, raising a shaky hand to take the pistol. It’s heavier than he thought it would be, but the grip is precise and not uncomfortable. Jack looks back at Anti, trying to understand what he wants from him. The hitman adjusts Jack’s posture to be as straight as possible, pushing the boy’s right foot forward and raising his arms. The Irishman’s breathing heavily, pupils wide, and he does his best not to shake his hands. Anti touches his left shoulder and tells him to pull the trigger.

 

“W-What?!” the Irishman stutters again.

 

Anti rolls his eyes and shows the magazine in his hands. “It’s fucking empty, just do it.”

 

Jack sighs, tightening his grip on the pistol and aiming straight, pulling the trigger. There’s a clicking sound and the barrel moves back briefly. The brown-haired man frowns, finding that underwhelming, not sure what he expected to happen. Anti hums, murmuring something about this being good enough for now and Jack knits his eyebrows even more, somehow offended. The Irishman puts the gun down and looks at the hitman.

 

“The fuck is this for?” Jack asks.

 

“I’m making sure.”

 

“Of what?”

 

Anti takes the gun from the boy’s hand and purses his lips. “That I can protect you.”

 

The brown-haired man stares at him, heart aching and trying to comprehend how the fuck did he get so involved with this man. It feels weird to be standing next to him, untied, after holding a gun that Anti insisted in explaining how it works. Jack’s blue eyes wander over the man’s chest, feeling content that he’s not bleeding anymore. Anti will have to change the bandages soon and Jack will probably help him with that. They lock their gaze, a blurry reflection. The Irishman rests his forehead against the hitman’s chest, being careful with the bruises, and he sighs.

 

 

 

 


	7. Chapter 7

Jack’s lying on the couch, open book on his lap and cheek resting on his hand. The title says _Brief Interviews with Hideous Men_ and he can’t fucking believe that Anti, the asshole, gave this book for him to read. It’s heavy, despite being fictional stories, and yet fascinating. The Irishman’s half way through the reading, finding himself enjoying the dark humor. Jack snorts, reading the part about a hippie girl who got kidnapped by a serial killer. When she looked at him, he couldn’t bring himself to kill her and literally stabbed the ground around her instead. Doesn’t that ring a bell?

 

Jack’s interrupted by the sound of a key in the front door and he looks over the couch to see Anti coming back after another day. The man’s wearing a black jacket with a grey scarf around his neck and he’s carrying a duffel bag. They lock their gaze and Jack tightens his grip on the book, feeling the hitman’s ghostly touch from the last time they had sex. Anti ate him out while the boy was on all fours and Jack has beard-burn between his legs. Anti’s nose and cheeks are pink from the cold and there are snowflakes in his hair once again, slowly melting. The green-haired man walks over to him and places the duffel bag in front of Jack, telling him to open it.

 

The Irishman frowns but does what he’s told, marking a page before closing the book. There are several winter clothes inside and Jack’s eyes widen, taking a particular jumper that he recognizes, of a caramel color with torn parts on the sides. He swallows and he looks at Anti, who’s standing next to him.

 

“W-Were you in my apartment?” Jack whispers, holding his clothes.

 

“It’s not my first time there, if that’s what you’re thinking,” Anti replies. “Put them on.”

 

The Irishman curses under his breath, trying not to panic over the fact that Anti was indeed spying on him up close. Fuck. Shit. Okay. Just… Just get dressed. Jack stands up, removing the long coat, and Anti watches his naked figure in the middle of the living room. It feels odd putting pants again, or just any clothes at all, but he zips them up and puts that jumper over his head. Anti brings him a pair of black boots and Jack puts them on, taking the long coat once again. The Irishman frowns when the hitman ties his hands. Not that he’s against it. He’s just confused.

 

He pulls Jack by the arm, walking them towards the front door and Irishman feels a wave of anxiety. Anti shows that he’s armed and the boy knows that there’s a sharp knife hidden somewhere, so he doesn’t question when the hitman covers his eyes with a blindfold. Jack’s breathing kicks up and his chest is moving fast, hearing the door opening but seeing nothing. The Irishman doesn’t budge when Anti tries moving him forward, afraid to leave the apartment.

 

“W-What are you d-doing?” he cries out, shaking like a leaf.

 

“Jack.” Anti’s tone of voice is serious and he can tell that the man is scowling. “Just be quiet.”

 

The Irishman takes a deep breath and they start walking forward. Jack unconsciously gets closer to Anti, scared to be leaving a place he’s so used to after a month and a half. He can’t see for shit, so all he can do is listen to their heavy steps. They start walking up stairs and Jack stumbles a couple of times, but Anti holds him. The brown-haired man hears the hitman open a door that creaks and he feels a light breeze hitting his face. Anti removes the blindfold and Jack blinks his eyes. The boy gasps, realizing they’re on the rooftop of the building. He sucks in fresh air.

 

Jack looks up, seeing the stars and snowflakes falling from the dark sky. Anti’s quietly watching him with those green eyes and the Irishman huffs with a smile, shaking his head.

 

“Why did you bring me here?” he asks, breath forming clouds in mid-air.

 

Anti purses his lips and says nothing.

 

They walk towards the edge of the rooftop, Jack not daring to look down for more than five seconds. They stand side by side, looking at the outside world in silence. Jack can’t believe that he left that room, that apartment, in a way. He can’t believe that Anti brought him here, even if it’s just for a moment. The boy remembers today’s date, the news channel announcing Christmas events and showing the city lights, but neither of them bring up the subject. Jack thinks of his family, imagining them around the table while eating Christmas’ dinner without realizing their son is here. It’s odd to think that the world continues to spin while Jack’s in this weird scenario. He shakes his head again, wanting to focus on _now._ On Anti. He smiles.

 

“I like you like this,” Anti whispers.

 

“Huh?” Jack looks at the hitman, taken back by his sudden words. “Like what?”

 

“I don’t know,” the man shrugs. “Happy isn’t exactly the word, but something like that.”

 

The hitman puts his hands in his pockets and looks ahead, green hair moving with the breeze, softly hitting his forehead. Jack stares at him for a long time, processing the thought that Anti did this to make him happy. He watches him until Anti turns his face again, eyelashes batting against freckled skin. His nose and cheeks are even more blushed now because of the cold, and Jack knows that he looks the same. The Irishman’s lips part in deep thought, heart aching. Jack feels passionate words on the tip of his tongue that would reveal too much, that would change everything, so he looks away and clears his throat.

 

Anti sits down on the rooftop, back resting against the edge, and Jack starts doing the same but decides to sit on the man’s lap, facing him. If Anti’s surprised, he doesn’t show it, and Jack immediately feels the hitman’s hands holding his waist. The brown-haired man places his tied-up hands behind Anti’s neck and leans for a kiss, seeking warmth in his mouth. Anti tightens his hold, bringing Jack closer, and tilts his head to get more of the boy. The Irishman caresses Anti’s hair and pecks his lips, over and over, tasting him. They sigh and moan between kisses, and Jack pulls Anti’s scarf just enough to plant some hickeys on his neck. Jack brushes his lips on his neck and the hitman shudders, beard giving him goosebumps.

 

The Irishman gives him another chaste kiss, lightly biting Anti’s bottom lip. He hums, liking this making-out session on the rooftop, and the snowflakes fall softly over them. Jack breaks the kiss and stares at Anti through half-lidded eyes. There’s a brief second when Jack thinks about what he’ll say, touching the man’s hair.

 

“Thank you…” Jack whispers and Anti’s eyes widen just a little bit, both knowing this is the first time the Irishman’s ever expressed appreciation. The brown-haired man pulls his hands back so he can rub Anti’s cheek with his thumb.

 

The hitman brings his hand up to hold Jack’s, caressing his skin and kissing his knuckles. Jack blushes and rests his head against the man’s chest, enjoying his warmth. It’s strange. All of this. Jack knows this is wrong. Perverse, even. And yet, he finds comfort in the sound of Anti’s heartbeat. In his scent that always carries a hint of tobacco, in his clothes that are just a bit larger on him and in his warm mouth. There’s that urge again to say those small passionate words but Jack keeps them to himself. He has to. Instead, he closes his eyes and keeps this memory in the back of his head.

 

When they go back inside, Anti takes off his clothes in the middle of the bedroom and tells Jack to lie down in bed. His hands are untied now but he obeys and stays still, gasping when Anti trails kisses all over his body and his hands wander everywhere. Jack sighs when the hitman breathes under his navel and bites his inner thighs. Anti’s being slow on purpose and the boy whines when he starts sucking another hickey. Jack’s head falls back when the hitman licks the tip of his cock before putting it on his mouth, swallowing him. Anti’s split tongue brushes on his shaft and Jack moans, grabbing the man’s hair to tug on it.

 

The green-haired man breathes through his nose, bobbing his head up and down until Jack’s fully hard and pulsing in his mouth. Anti releases his cock with an obscene sound, moving down to lick his balls and asshole. Jack whimpers and the hitman takes the bottle of lube from the nightstand, uncapping it to cover his fingers. The Irishman watches Anti jerk himself and he spreads his legs in anticipation. The hitman makes a motion to finger Jack, wanting to prep him, but the boy opens his mouth to speak with a racing heart.

 

“N-No,” he mumbles. “I want you now.”

 

Anti eyes him, touching his entrance. “I’ll hurt you.”

 

“Good.” The hitman’s cock twitches when hearing the boy whisper that and Jack moans under his breath. “Ruin me.”

 

The green-haired man growls and pulls Jack by the hips, bending the boy’s legs as much as he can. Jack’s heart is in his throat and he can feel the tip of Anti’s cock brushing on his asshole. They’re both heavily breathing and their pupils are wide, eyes almost black. Anti spreads more lube on himself and starts pushing in, head stretching Jack’s entrance. The Irishman bites his bottom lip and his eyes fill with tears when Anti penetrates him deeper. They are both groaning and panting, cocks throbbing and swollen. Anti leans down to adjust himself more and Jack chokes at the motion.

 

“Fuck, you’re so tight…” the hitman mutters. “You’re such a good cock warmer.”

 

Jack moans and flushes all over, toes curling and heart fluttering. He holds Anti by his arms, digging his nails into skin, and he tells the man to move. Anti grunts and pulls back, until Jack can feel the tip of his head again, only to slam down as hard as he can. Jack shouts and his whole body tenses up. He knits his eyebrows and forces himself to relax, unclenching his asshole so Anti can thrust more. They start moving again, smacking their skin and making pornographic sounds. Jack wails and sobs, gripping the sheets to keep him in place. His knuckles turn white and Anti fucks him furiously, bed frame hitting the wall.

 

“H-Harder!” Jack pants through glassy eyes and the hitman growls, leaning all the way down so they’re chest-to-chest, and he shoves brutally. The Irishman mewls and scratches Anti’s back. “Oh, god! Oh, oh! Yes! Anti!”

 

Jack’s cock is leaking and his mouth is wide open, feeling shock waves whenever Anti hits his prostate. The hitman tugs on his hair and the Irishman lets out a cry of pain mixed with pleasure, dragging his nails on the man’s skin. Anti moans into his ear, slamming harder and harder until the boy is a sobbing mess. The Irishman clashes their mouths together, kissing the hitman with sloppy moves. They’re starting to sweat and Jack’s thighs are trembling with the tension, heat growing and growing. Anti’s split tongue enters his mouth and the boy doesn’t have the strength to kiss him back, letting the hitman take over. Their breathing turns sharper and shorter, thrusts becoming erratic.

 

“I’m gonna… I’m g-gonna cum!” Jack mumbles, mind foggy. “A-Ah!”

 

Anti moves a hand down to jerk the Irishman’s cock, thumb pressing on his shaft. “Cum for me, Jack…” the hitman’s voice is tight and barely a whisper. “C’mon, I know you want it.”

 

Jack mewls again and he arches his back, pulsing hard and coming on Anti’s hand. The green-haired man follows right after, filling him up while Jack convulses in bed. They both ride their orgasms, jets of come from Jack’s cock hitting their stomachs, and they moan in unison. Jack wraps his arms around Anti’s shoulders to bring him impossibly closer, breathing in their scents. Anti curls himself onto the boy, keeping them there while recovering. The brown-haired man feels a couple of tears streaming down his face and he sobs, throat burning from screaming. Jack’s heart is beating frantically against his ribcage and his head’s swimming. It’s intense and overwhelming.

 

Anti’s green hair is curling over his forehead and the Irishman pushes it away, kissing him there. The hitman licks some tears from his cheek and Jack sighs, hugging him more. He clenches his asshole to feel Anti’s cock still inside him and the man shudders. Their heartbeats sync and their chests move up and down, quietness filling the room. Jack blinks with heavy eyes and sees that healing cut on Anti’s bicep with a couple of stitches open, though the hitman doesn’t seem to care. The Irishman brushes his fingers over it and closes his eyes, trying to keep his heart safe and sound. Their legs are tangled and Anti locks their hands together before falling asleep.

 

Jack wakes up briefly in the middle of the night to the feeling of Anti pulling himself out and the boy turns around with a huff, incoherently mumbling back to sleep. After a couple of hours, the Irishman stretches himself to fully wake up and looks at the small gap between the curtains, noticing it’s early morning. He sighs, burying his face into the pillow and lazily pats the bed next to him. Anti’s not there but he can smell cigarettes in the air and, when Jack looks up, he finds the bedroom door ajar. The brown-haired man cleans his eyes and listens to the man walk around the apartment. It’s soothing.

 

_“What are you doing here?”_

 

Jack perks up at Anti’s question and he hears a unfamiliar voice humming outside. The boy’s heart skips to his throat and he abruptly sits up, wincing at his sore asshole. Jack listens to them talking, not sure of what to do.

 

_“Blank warned me about you before coming here. Before you put him down for good. What are you doing, Anti? What are you hiding?”_

 

_“He asked for it.”_

 

_“Let me in, Anti.”_

 

The Irishman holds his breath and slowly gets up from bed with weak legs. He picks up Anti’s boxer briefs from the floor and puts that caramel jumper over his head, dressing up as quietly as he can. This person is clearly someone Anti knows and a hitman as well, which is not good. He’s questioning the green-haired man and wanting to check the apartment, but Anti keeps cutting him off and asking for him to go away. The stranger raises his voice in annoyance, accent stronger, and Anti discusses with him. He calls the man _Pit_. The Irishman hears footsteps and he freezes, hiding behind the door. Jack remembers that goddamn gun and he curses in his mind, knowing it’s in living room.

 

 _“Don’t go in there!”_ Anti screams and Jack hears a punch followed by a groan.

 

He hears shuffling and boots make loud noises on the wooden floor. Anti lets out a painful sound and that hurts Jack’s heart, trying to understand what the fuck is going on and wanting them to stop fighting. When he hears it again, Jack whimpers and doesn’t think twice before running out of the room. He goes for the duffel bag next to the coffee table and quickly takes the pistol in his hands, awkwardly shoving in the magazine and aiming forward with trembling hands. When he looks at the scene, Jack gasps and sees Anti pressed against the wall with a hand around his neck. The stranger’s pointing a gun towards the hitman and Anti has a knife on the man’s side. They all look at each other, a silent moment in the middle of chaos. The figure has short brown hair and blue eyes.

 

Anti’s eyes widen at Jack. “Go back right the fuck _now!_ ” he screams, voice shaking with rage, but Jack tightens his grip on the weapon.

 

“L-Let him go!” the boy shouts.

 

“Oh,” the stranger says and narrows his eyes. “That’s why you’re acting so weird.” He looks at Jack up and down, noticing all the bruises from warm nights. “We’re supposed to kill them, not fuck them.”

 

“I said _let him go_!”

 

“Jack! If you shoot, you’ll kill us both, you asshole! Go back to the room!” Anti growls but the stranger points his own gun towards Jack, still having a hold of the green-haired man on his throat. “Robin, put the gun down!”

 

“Oh my, we are saying names now?!” the figure - Robin - shouts back and scowls. Everyone’s shaking with dread and expectation. “Should I do the same with yours?!”

 

Jack aims to his head, breathing erratic and hyper focused. He’s looking at Robin and Anti back and forth, fear consuming him. Anti makes a choking sound when Robin squeezes his throat and the hitman stabs him on his side. Robin swears out loud and loses his grip, Anti kicking him in the stomach. Jack watches them fight and the hitman bends Robin’s wrist until he drops the weapon. Robin punches Anti in the face and the fight is dirty, heavy, ungracious. Jack’s frozen in place, pistol following them, and he’s breathing so hard that his chest hurts. Anti drops them to the floor with a loud thud, strangling the intruder, and Robin struggles to pick up the gun again. When his fingers touch the weapon, Jack runs forward.

 

 _“NO!”_ he screams and pulls the trigger, hearing a loud sharp sound and feeling the impact of the recoil.

 

The sudden silence rings in their ears.

 

Anti stares at the limp man beneath him, bullet in his head. There are splashes of blood on the floor and wall, and Jack’s hands are trembling so much that he’s afraid they might fall. The brown-haired man feels a burning sensation in his stomach and something warm running down to his navel. He chokes and gags, looking down to see red staining his outfit and it’s streaming to his legs. Jack looks at the man’s dead body, hand around the gun that was aimed at him. There were two shots. The Irishman sobs and drops the weapon on the floor, moving his hands to hover over his stomach.

 

“A-Anti…?”

 

The hitman finally looks up at him with blood on his face and his green eyes widen, jaw slack. Jack’s legs give out and he falls on his ass, covering the bullet wound with his hands. Anti’s there in a second, mumbling _No_ over and over. The adrenaline is fading and Jack finally feels the shot, wound pulsing in pain. The Irishman groans and whimpers, looking at his bloody hands. Anti walks away, shouting at Jack while picking some stuff as fast as he can and the Irishman burst into tears. It hurts. It hurts. He’s going to die. He’s going to die, isn’t he?

 

“I-I…” Jack mumbles but Anti tells him to shut up, coming back to wrap torn fabric around the boy’s torso. Anti’s hands are shaking and he looks so pale, sweat streaming down his forehead.

 

“You’re so fucking stupid! So stupid!” he yells and Jack hyperventilates. “Why didn’t you listen to me?!”

 

“I d-didn’t… I didn’t want…” the Irishman sobs. “I didn’t want to lose you.”

 

Anti groans and picks him up from the floor, saying they need to hurry up. Anti grabs a duffel bag and starts running towards the hallway, leaving the apartment. Jack looks back at the dead body and he wheezes, realizing he killed a man. He fucking killed someone. All he could think in the heat of the moment was that he didn’t want to lose Anti, no matter what. They go inside an old elevator and Jack groans in pain, head swimming. Anti keeps saying random stuff to keep him focused and when the elevator’s door opens, Jack sees an underground garage. The green-haired man paces faster towards a car and fumbles with his key to turn the alarm off. Anti places Jack on the backseat, laying him there, and gets inside.

 

Jack doesn’t even bother to think too much about them leaving that place and being in the outside world after so long. He just tosses himself left and right on the backseat, tears falling from his face while blood stains everywhere. Anti’s driving madly and _fast_ , Jack moaning in pain whenever the man turns around a curve. The green-haired man keeps talking to him, with an angry and shaky voice that screams anxiety and dread. Jack blinks through hazy eyes, staring at the car’s ceiling. Anti looks back, messy hair and bruised face, and shouts at Jack to wake up. The Irishman swallows, feeling his clothes soaking.

 

“W-Where… are we g-going?” Jack tries focusing on something and Anti tightens his hands on the steering wheel.

 

“There’s someone that might help us,” Anti murmurs, looking ahead. “You won’t like him, though.”

 

Jack huffs with a crooked smile. He lets his head fall and stops pressing his hands over the wound, too tired. The Irishman sighs and he can’t keep his eyes open anymore, so he licks his lips and opens his mouth to speak.

 

“H-Hey, Anti… I know this is a b-bad time,” Jack barely whispers, heavy lids wanting to close. “B-But I think I lo…”

 

His vision turns black and he hears Anti shouting his name, saying something that he can’t quite grasp. The brown-haired man passes out on the backseat and his body relaxes. There’s a moment where he slowly recovers his conscious and he feels the car abruptly stopping, wheels leaving noises behind them. Anti steps outside mid-shouting at someone and dragging Jack’s body from the car like a ragdoll. Jack blacks out again and sees Anti standing in front of him, next to another stranger. Their faces are blurry and Jack realizes they are screaming at each other.

 

 _“What do you mean you don’t have anesthetic in this goddamn house?! Are you shitting me?!”_ Anti’s furious voice threatens to shake the room and Jack lets out a gasp, catching their attention.

  
The last thing Jack hears and sees is Anti leaning down, resting his forehead against the Irishman’s, and murmuring _I’m sorry for this_. Then, Anti places a belt between Jack’s teeth and the boy sees _red_ . He shrieks, biting the leather, when he feels something cold stretching open the wound on his stomach. He thrashes his legs on a hard surface, feeling it go deeper and Jack screams for Anti to help him. He wants it to stop. He wants it to stop. _Make it stop!_ The brown-haired man digs his nails in the man’s arms and his eyes roll back, sighing and blacking out.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since there's no mention of it later on and in case you want to know, Blank was Ethan bc well! Crank, Blank, dark ego... hahah


	8. Chapter 8

Jack knits his eyebrows and slowly opens his eyes, blinking to adjust them to the brightness. His head’s throbbing and his throat’s dry, lips chapped. The Irishman groans and feels soft sheets underneath him, realizing he’s in a different bedroom. This room is larger and cleaner, with black furniture and a window wall that reveals a beautiful view of nature. Jack frowns, noticing he’s alone, and he tries raising his arms to uncover himself. The brown-haired man looks down at his stomach, grimacing at the sight. There’s a bandage wrapped around his torso and it’s stained with blood. Jack’s wearing only boxer briefs, chest exposed, and his whole body is sore.

 

The black door creaks open and Jack looks up to see a stranger.

 

The man stops in the doorway for a moment, watching the Irishman’s reaction. When Jack does nothing, the figure walks in. He has raven hair and tan skin, dressed in a white formal shirt with the long-sleeves rolled up to his elbows. Jack narrows his eyes and tries sitting up, only to grimace and having the stranger shake his head. The Irishman glares at the man when he walks closer to look at his bandages.

 

“My dear, you gave us quite the fright.” The raven-haired man has a rich deep voice. “I’m Dark, it’s a ple-”

 

“Where’s Anti?” Jack interrupts him with a groan, frowning even more.

 

“Very well,” Dark sighs, mumbling something about Anti having a type. “I’ll call him, don’t worry.”

 

The Irishman’s eyes follow the man until he leaves the bedroom and the scowl is immediately gone when Anti comes in running. The green-haired man stops in front of Jack, as if unsure of what to do with himself, and they look at each other. Jack’s eyes fill with tears and Anti clenches his hands, scowling as he always does. The brown-haired man watches him open his mouth a couple of times, only to close it again. Anti stares down at him, both taking it all in. His green hair is everywhere, like he’s been running his fingers over it too many times, and the dark circles under his eyes are deeper. Jack swallows.

 

“Stupid boy,” Anti says but there’s no rage in his voice. He sounds exhausted too. “So stupid.”

 

Jack raises a weak hand to hold Anti’s, fingers intertwining. There’s a long pause where no one says anything again, just watching and holding their hands. Anti sits down next to Jack at one point and the Irishman recalls everything that happened with sorrow. He killed a man. He committed murder because of Anti. _For_ Anti. There’s no going back. Jack’s tears fall and Anti sighs, both looking completely drained. The brown-haired man knits his eyebrows, remembering the pain from before. His head hurts.

 

“W-What happened?” Jack asks, voice cracking. “Where are we?”

 

“Dark is… someone that can help. He took care of your injury. Fuck, as much as I hate to admit this, he _saved_ your life,” Anti murmurs. “Don’t tell him I said that.” He pinches the end of his nose and looks outside the window, seeing the trees covered in snow. “We’re in his house. The fucker got a fancy one that’s away from the city. No one followed us.”

 

Jack purses his lips, somehow missing that apartment and that familiar room that smelled of sex. Being here feels weird and he can tell that both of them are not happy with this. Dark knocks on the door and tells them that Jack needs to change his bandages. Anti hisses, threatening the man not to touch Jack again, and the boy smiles weakly. Dark rolls his eyes, already tired of this man’s bullshit.

 

“You can do it yourself, but I’ll need to see the stitches. I need to make sure everything is alright.” Dark practically throws new bandages and some supplies over the bed, huffing.

 

Anti picks up a pair of scissors to cut the old bandage with care, so Jack won’t have to move too much. The Irishman winces when the fabric leaves his damp skin with blood and Anti tells Dark to bring some water in a bowl. The raven-haired man purses his lips but does what he’s told, and Anti cleans the boy’s stomach. The gauze and water turns pink and Jack feels slightly sick. Dark comes closer to see the stitches, humming and murmuring something to Anti. Jack stares at the ceiling and lets them take care of him. The green-haired man carefully raises the boy just enough to wrap a new bandage around his torso and Jack whimpers, feeling agony.

 

The hitman brushes his knuckles on Jack’s cheek to soothe him and Dark watches them, hands behind his back and narrowing his eyes. Once Anti’s done, he sends Dark a look and the man takes his eyes off Jack. They have a glaring competition and the Irishman’s between them, unsure of what to do. The air is tense and they clearly don’t get along. Dark sneers and opens his mouth with a silly smile.

 

“This boy has certainly changed you.”

 

“Shut the fuck up,” Anti hisses.

 

“You’re so vulgar,” Dark scoffs.

 

“Trust me,” the green-haired man says. ”You don’t know how vulgar I can get.”

 

“I bet your boy knows…”

 

Anti shouts a cursing word and pulls out a knife from behind his back, pointing it at Dark. They start mocking one another, arguing like children, and Jack’s head hurts even more with this situation. It’s ridiculous and unnecessary, so the Irishman raises his arms up to stop them.

 

“Both of you, shut up!” Jack groans. “I’ve been fucking _shot!_ I feel like my skull is being split in half and you,” the Irishman points at Dark. “You fucking cut me open while I was feeling _everything_. What even are you?!”

 

Anti smirks, watching Jack question the man, as if he’s proud. Dark hums.

 

“I was a doctor, dear,” he says. “I’m also a former hitman. I retired because of shit like that.” The raven-haired man points at them and Anti shows his teeth.

 

Jack growls, vision swimming, and he winces. The green-haired man glares at Dark until he walks away, murmuring something about being in his own room in case they need help. Anti leaves briefly to bring some water for Jack and, when it’s just the two of them, his hand comes to rest on the Irishman’s cheek. Jack sighs and takes a sip of the drink with a straw, feeling Anti’s thumb brushing on his skin. The hitman places the glass of water on a nightstand and, then, tugs on the boy’s hair. Jack yelps.

 

“Never do something reckless like that again, you hear me?” Anti growls. “You said you didn’t want to lose me, but you almost died on me.”

 

The Irishman’s heart swells and he can’t tell if he’s a captive anymore. What is this between them? It’s not like he can say out loud that they’re in a relationship. It’s something different and Jack knows he depends on Anti at this point. Jack needs him. The hitman’s found a way into his heart. The thought of running away sounds strange and something tells him that, if he ever went back to that normal life, Jack wouldn’t know what to do with himself. Heck, he almost confessed! God, he’s so stupid! The Irishman swallows and nods at Anti’s words, murmuring an apology. The hitman grumbles and releases the grip on his hair.

 

Jack asks him to stay and Anti takes off his boots, slowly getting in bed next to the boy. The green-haired man places the knife underneath his pillow and Jack feels safer knowing that. Anti buries his face in Jack’s hair, arm resting on his chest without adding too much pressure. The Irishman leans more, breathing in the hitman’s scent. He remembers their apartment, their bed, that room that smelled of sex and had tousled sheets. Jack bats his eyes, feeling exhausted and already half-asleep.

 

“We should’ve stayed on that rooftop…” the brown-haired man whispers and he’s not sure if it makes much sense.

 

Anti hums and just stays with him until Jack falls asleep.

 

The Irishman dreams that they’re back on the rooftop, snow falling over them, and Anti’s smiling. Jack frowns and looks down to see blood staining his clothes, snow turning red. Funny. He didn’t hear any shot. Anti laughs and that pistol suddenly shows up in his hand, pointing at Jack’s stomach. The Irishman can’t feel any pain but his face falls at the sight of the hitman being so cold. Anti mouths _Bang_ and pulls the trigger. The gun clicks without bullets but after a split second, the brown-haired man hears a loud shot that rings in his ears. Jack jumps out of his skin and pushes the covers away, making a fast motion to sit up but shouting in pain.

 

He takes deep harsh breaths, hair slightly damp from sweating, and the wound is throbbing. The Irishman hisses and Anti’s there next to him, pushing his shoulders down so Jack can rest his back. The green-haired man asks what happened and his words are slurred from sleep, half-lidded eyes that show concern. Jack shakes his head and grimaces, not wanting to talk right now. He looks out the window, no snow falling from the sky anymore and it’s early morning. Jack purses his lips, dream fading away. Anti gets up from bed, walking to the bathroom. The boy’s bladder is full and he wants to get up as well, but waits for the green-haired man to come back. Anti gives him a painkiller and some water before helping him to stand up.

 

Jack groans under his breath, supporting himself on the man, and they walk with short steps. His vision swims and it feels like he’ll throw up. Anti tells him not to, especially on him, and he pulls down the boy’s underwear so Jack can pee. The hitman keeps holding him up and once he’s done, Anti makes him sit on the toilet lid to wash his face. The brown-haired man rinses his mouth and Anti’s knuckles brush on his beard, murmuring something about shaving it later. They go back to the bedroom and Jack lies down, even though he doesn’t want to. He’s afraid to fall asleep and have nightmares again.

 

“What now?” Jack whispers, wanting to know what’s going to happen from now on. He thinks of that dead man, lying in their apartment with blood splashed on the floor. “That man…”

 

“I took care of him,” Anti says. “You were out for a day, so I went back to get rid of him. Though, I might have to go back again to pick up some stuff.”

 

“Are you leaving me with that guy?” The Irishman looks in the door’s direction.

 

“Believe me,” Anti purses his lips. “I don’t want to.”

 

The green-haired man puts his boots back on and takes out the pocket knife from under the pillow. He eyes Jack and makes a motion for the boy to grab it. The Irishman holds his breath and touches the small weapon, cold silver in his hand. Anti tells him to keep it for safety and Jack wraps his fingers around it, nodding. The hitman caresses his hair and leans down, lips brushing lightly on Jack’s. The brown-haired man opens his mouth, tongue slowly lolling out. Anti sucks on it and kisses him, exhaling through his nose. Jack sighs, loving the taste of him. Their kiss makes a sound when they part their lips. They look at each other, saying something without words, and Anti leaves.

 

Jack drags a hand over his face, thinking about how fucked up he is. The brown-haired man can’t believe in everything that’s happened. When did his life turn so complicated? Jack’s heart and mind are a complete mess. He looks down at the bandages, thinking he’ll get scars like Anti and they’ll be even more alike. The Irishman tightens his hold on the pocket knife, realizing Anti trusted him with it. Jack licks his lips, tasting the faint kiss. God. He’s gone.

 

After a moment of contemplation and knowing that his life is compromised by the law, Jack sighs and slowly gets up again. Anti would definitely shout at him for doing that alone and using too much strength when he’s supposed to be resting, but the Irishman really doesn’t want to fall asleep again. Not in this stranger’s house. Jack looks around, hugging himself with one arm, and finds Anti’s black shirt on an armchair. He groans when putting the garment over his head, but does it anyway. Jack puts the pocket knife in his waistband, covering it with the shirt, and walks out of the room.

 

Jack supports himself on the hallway wall, hearing shuffling and humming. He finds a large living room, black wooden floor, with artistic sculptures set in the corners. There are floor-to-ceiling windows everywhere, displaying the nature around the house, and the modern design is clean and simple. There’s a counter that separates the kitchen area and the boy sees Dark, cooking something behind it. The idea of food makes Jack’s stomach growl despite the pain, but he says nothing.

 

“You should be in bed, you know?” Dark speaks without looking up at the boy, focused on his task.

 

Jack approaches him, but when he’s about to sit, Dark points at a metal table and tells him to go there. The Irishman frowns but goes, seeing a shiny glimpse on it. Jack gasps when he sees a crooked bullet and he takes it in his hand, feeling the small object. Dark tells him to keep it as a souvenir and that he’s lucky it didn’t shatter. Jack huffs, touching the bandages lightly and remembering the shot. He goes back to the man and sits on a stool in front of the counter, leaning back while holding the bullet. He looks over to see that Dark’s chopping some vegetables and there are eggs by his side.

 

“Breakfast, darling? I’m making omelets.” The tan man winks and Jack glares, murmuring _No_. Dark hums. “Anti’s spoiling you.”

 

Jack looks out the window, blinking slowly and watching the snow that’s melting under the sun. He thinks about how he could simply walk away, limping from this house. It doesn’t seem that Dark would stop him. Jack stares at him, watching him hum quietly to himself while cooking. The rolled-up sleeves reveal strong arms and veins, calloused fingers like Anti’s. Hands of a killer. The Irishman has so many questions in his mind and now that the hitman’s not here, perhaps someone else can give him some answers. It’s worth a shot.

 

“Did you kill your double?” Jack starts, curious about the man.

 

“Ah, yes!” Dark nods and it feels like he’s talking about the weather. “I put a bullet in his head right away. Like you did to Pit.”

 

“That was an accident,” the boy whispers and looks down, clenching his hands. “I didn’t mean to.”

 

“Keep lying to yourself. It’s fun to see.” The raven-haired man cracks a few eggs and starts stirring. “Anti was just like that in the beginning. I know it sounds silly to say, but you remind me of him. Still saddens me he dyed his hair of that ridiculous color. I like yours better.”

 

Jack frowns, looking down at his feet. The purple rings around his ankles are fading, turning somewhat yellow-ish, and the boy misses it. He curls his toes.

 

“Why kill doubles? Why do you guys wipe them out?”

 

Dark adds the vegetables with the eggs and pours them into a frying pan. He pauses after that, looking at Jack for a while, scanning him up and down. The boy’s so tired that he doesn’t even care, looking back with a deadpan expression. Dark murmurs something about the Irishman being too curious, but Anti has been holding back so much from Jack that he can’t deny it. He shrugs and tells him that Anti’s not much of a speaker. The man smirks, nodding with an _I know_. Jack feels something stir in his heart and scowls.

 

The raven-haired man sighs and explains that they have someone behind the curtains to organize all their missions and put money in their accounts. There are plenty of people around the world that want others to die and that person sets their victims to fulfill such request. They’ve set some rules to maintain order, to make the work clean and professional. No attachments can be made, to not compromise any kill. One of those rules is to kill your double, if you ever come across them. Jack takes it all in while Dark flips his food as if everything is normal and places the omelet on a plate. When Jack asks the reason again, the man leans on the counter and gives him a mischievous grin.

 

“Don’t you get it? To see someone just like you, innocent and unaware of how terrible humanity can be, is remarkable. Stunning. It’s like a moth finding a light in the dead of the night…” Dark whispers, staring at the boy. “You’re his weakness, darling. He sees something in you that he doesn’t have. That’s why we need to kill them, so we won’t see hope and lose our strength. Poetic, isn’t it?”

 

Jack’s head hurts and he needs a moment to process all of that. Dark eats in front of him, on purpose, like the asshole he seems to be. The Irishman’s lips part in deep thought, thinking of Anti instead. His heart clenches, wondering if he’s really a weakness to the hitman. Is this even good? Dark said they technically don’t have a boss, but that person behind the curtains certainly won’t be happy to know that two of them are dead and one broke a rule. But Dark retired, he got away with that world in a way. That means they can also do that, right? Wait. Jack frowns. Is he really thinking of running away _with_ Anti? What if the hitman gets tired of him? What if he’s really just a fucktoy and Anti will wipe him out once he’s done?

 

“Darling,” Dark’s voice calls him back to reality. “Breathe.”

 

Jack looks at him and wheezes, taking harsh gulps of air while his heart beats against his ribcage. It’s too much to think. It’s too much to feel. Too much. The brown-haired man shuts his eyes and breathes, raising a hand to let Dark know that he’s fine. Anxiety crawls under his skin and the boy’s starting to get used to it. Jack groans, angry that he still has doubts regarding the hitman. Anti’s so difficult to read sometimes. Despite the green-haired man saying he will always come back, there’s a part of Jack that’s afraid it might not be true. He’s been broken and put back together in a different way, now depending on Anti more than ever.

 

The Irishman wants the hitman back, but to crave someone you shouldn’t it’s quite hard.

 

“He did quite the number on you, kid,” Dark whistles.

 

“You’ve no idea what I’ve been through,” Jack murmurs, feeling his throat close and tears prickle the corner of his eyes.

 

“You’re both a mess. You don’t even know his real name, do you? You know nothing about that man and yet you’re a fool to love him.”

 

Jack knits his eyebrows, tears falling from his blue eyes. “I never said that.”

 

“You don’t have to say anything, dear,” the tan man huffs.

 

The brown-haired man scowls and looks out of the window, somehow thinking that everything was easier back in that small room. How dare he feel such passionate emotions for the person who kidnapped him? Someone that kept him captive, someone who murders. His double. Jack should feel disgusted at himself, even more for killing a man. He should feel guilty. Jack hates when his thoughts threaten to eat him alive and he grimaces, feeling a small pang from the injury. He’s been sitting here for too long. When he makes a move to stand up, they hear the sound of a car approaching and it parks in front of the house. Jack tightens his hold on the bullet, seeing Anti getting out of the vehicle.

 

He walks up with duffel bags in his hands, kicking the door shut, earning a glare from Dark. Anti has green strands curling over his forehead and he huffs, adjusting the weight of the bags in his hands. Jack looks at Anti, seeing himself, and he swallows. The hitman goes to them, scowl on his face, and he asks what the fuck are they doing. He complains that Jack shouldn’t be standing, shouldn’t be here, and Dark watches the boy with a smirk. The Irishman looks down and takes a step back, wincing at the wound.

 

“The fuck did you say to him?” Anti glares at Dark.

 

“Me? Nothing, honey,” the raven-haired man smiles. “We were just having a friendly time.”

 

“Call me that again, I fucking dare you.” The hitman looks back at Jack when Dark just rolls his eyes and shuts his mouth. “Go back to the room.”

 

Jack knits his eyebrows, feeling that spark to fight back and growl at the man, but he just doesn’t move. The Irishman looks at Dark, looking content that he messed around with the boy’s mind, and then looks at Anti, afraid that he really doesn’t know the man. They lock their gaze and the hitman repeats the order, slower and stronger this time. Jack finally turns back and walks into the bedroom, hearing Anti arguing with Dark right away. The boy removes the pocket knife from his waistband and places it on the nightstand along with the bullet. He lies down, staring at the ceiling and cursing himself for having a weak heart.

 

 

 

 


	9. Chapter 9

When Anti enters the room, he drops the duffel bags next to a chair and opens one, looking for something. Jack doesn’t stir, just watching through the corner of his eye. The green-haired man walks to him and nudges him on the shoulder. When the Irishman finally looks up at him, he gasps. Anti’s holding that long coat and that last book he left on the couch. Jack immediately takes them in his hands, pressing them against his chest. The hitman huffs, a small hint of a smile on his face, and helps the Irishman to remove the black shirt and put the long coat. Jack breathes in, feeling safe with the garment brushing on his skin, and Anti sits next to him. He caresses the boy’s hair, pushing strands away.

 

Jack sighs, feeling confused whenever the man leaves, and Dark’s words keep hovering in his mind. A weakness. That’s breathtaking and frightening at the same time. He purses his lips.

 

“Why do you never tell me anything?” the Irishman asks and Anti frowns. “Is it because you’re keeping me captive? Am I still that? Am I just that to you after all this time?” The boy grimaces when the hitman stays quiet, watching him. “Am I?!” he shouts.

 

Silence.

 

“I killed someone,” Jack whispers, tears in his eyes. “I killed someone the moment I saw you in danger. Despite all this pain you bring me, all this mess, I still _want_ you. But I… I’m scared of what’s in your mind. I overthink and… Anti, I can’t keep going like this. I just can’t… My heart...”

 

“Jack,” the green-haired man finally speaks, voice low and calm. He leans down to hold Jack’s face, shaking him slightly, as if waking him up. “You have to trust me. Don’t listen to whatever Dark puts in your head. Trust me. _Please._ ”

 

“Anti...” The brown-haired man raises his hands to hold the hitman’s face as well, noses touching. He looks at the man, blue eyes wandering until he meets green. “You know everything about me. I know nothing about _you_. I don’t even know your real name, you all use codes and I-I…. How can I trust you without suffering like this? I don’t even know if it’s right for me to wish these things.”

 

“You’re mine, remember?” Anti brushes tears from the boy’s cheeks. “You’re mine and no one will take you away from me. Only I can fuck you. Kiss you. Touch you. Only me. Do you understand?”

 

“B-But…”

 

“Jack, for fuck sakes! Listen to what you’re saying! I’m not... I’m not good at this!” the green-haired man groans. “I thought you knew what I felt every time we had sex, that I took care of you. I could have left you there, on the floor, starving and tied-up. I could have forced you to do horrible things for me, but I didn’t!“

 

It’s quiet after that, Jack knitting his eyebrows in deep thought. Anti sighs, frustrated at the boy for having such doubts. He bumps their foreheads together, caressing the Irishman’s hair.

 

“Would it make you happy if I said I’m sorry?" Anti whispers. “Would it? I’m sorry for everything I did to you. I’m sorry, okay? I’m _sorry_.”

 

Jack sobs and pulls Anti closer, hugging him. The green-haired man buries his face in the Irishman’s neck, listening to him cry as always. He keeps apologizing over and over, voice muffled, and the boy’s heart aches. It still hurts. It still hurts that Anti refuses to talk about so many things, but it somehow soothes Jack hearing him apologize so intensely and say that the Irishman belongs to him. That he wants him there. Anti’s possessive behavior makes Jack shiver and his heart swell. It feels like the Irishman’s mind is trying to find something to make him leave, to make him run from danger. But his heart is taken. Shattered, but taken nonetheless. Once again, Jack wishes to be on that rooftop and just freeze time right there.

 

Anti kisses his cheek before going to his mouth, both sighing into the kiss. The Irishman lets the man take over, opening his mouth and moaning softly. Anti has a pained expression on his face, caressing the boy’s hair, and Jack feels bad for causing unnecessary trouble. He doesn’t like to see Anti suffering at all. The brown-haired man murmurs _I’m sorry_ back and tastes him with his tongue, listening to the hitman moan. They makeout for a while, both breathing in each other’s scents and calming down their hearts. Anti pecks his lips over and over, murmuring sweet nothings, and Jack finds himself smiling.

 

“I miss being inside you, baby,” Anti whispers and Jack flushes all over. The hitman touches the wound lightly. The brown-haired man covers Anti’s hand with his.

 

The man with the green eyes gets up from bed and the Irishman watches him go to the bathroom, returning with clean bandages and supplies. Anti repeats the same process as before, being slow and gentle. Jack winces nonetheless and he takes another painkiller. The hitman murmurs something about getting antibiotics from Dark and some food. The Irishman frowns when Anti places a pillow behind his back and he says it’s so the wound won’t get swollen. Jack waits for him to bring food and he opens his mouth so Anti can feed him, both eating quietly in the room. The hitman gives him small pieces of omelet, waiting for the boy to chew properly, and Jack drinks water from a straw. Everything about this little routine calms him down, confused thoughts slowly fading away for now.

 

Anti shows him more books. There’s a sketchbook this time, still wrapped up in plastic. The idea of the hitman stopping by a store to buy something for him is out of this world, but it makes Jack’s heart flutter. Anti gives him pencils and all kind of stuff to pass time, especially now that he won’t be able to move that much. Jack feels like a kid receiving gifts for his birthday and that makes him knit his eyebrows, thinking about it.

 

“When is your birthday?” he asks the man. Anti seems to hesitate for a moment, but ends up answering.

 

“July 2nd,” he murmurs. “Your date is mine inverted. February 7th.”

 

Jack eyes him and raises an eyebrow. Anti shrugs, sending him a face that says _What?_ _I’m just saying._ The Irishman snorts and shakes his head. He tries sketching Anti on paper, which, obviously, results in a picture of himself. It’s been awhile since the last time he drew something properly and his hands are still a little stiff, barely moving them after almost two months. Anti gets distracted with his knives, sharpening them and occasionally glancing at Jack. They catch their gaze every now and then, and it makes the Irishman feel a spark run through his body everytime. He adds the gauges and freckles, shading the man’s hair and beard. Jack winces when making a fast motion and Anti grunts, his way of telling the boy to be careful.

 

The green-haired man finishes sharpening his weapons and moves closer to Jack, lying down next to him. He takes the sketchbook from the Irishman’s hands, earning a _Hey!_ from the boy, and he hums. Anti looks at Jack and then back at the drawing, unfinished by the way. The brown-haired man flushes, knowing it’s kind of fucked up to draw something like that but he can’t resist it. The hitman gives him back the sketchbook and oh my god, is Anti blushing? Oh my god. He is. Jack’s jaw goes slack, seeing the tips of the man’s ears turn bright pink. The Irishman stares at him, eyes wide.

 

“Not a word,” Anti murmurs and Jack nods, holding back a smile.

 

He wishes to hold onto this small moment, endearing and calm after that discussion. He wishes it could last. But reality insists on hitting Jack like a ton of bricks and his face falls. The Irishman sighs and scratches his temple, suddenly self-conscious of the wound. He’s afraid of what might happen. He doesn’t want them to be hurt anymore. Especially now that Anti expressed out loud how much he wants Jack to be with him, despite everything that he’s done. This relationship is really strange, isn’t it? He sighs and places the sketchbook on the nightstand, ignoring the crooked bullet and turning his face to see Anti with eyes closed. Jack can tell that he’s still awake, just resting and not frowning.

 

“How long have you known Dark?” Jack whispers, asking the first thing that comes to his mind. He recalls how the raven-haired man seems to understand Anti’s behavior so well and that _I know_ from before keeps coming back to Jack’s thoughts.

 

Anti opens his green eyes to look at the boy. “Why do you want to know?” Jack glares and the hitman sighs. “I don’t fucking remember anymore, but it’s been years. Shit gets blurry.”

 

“Did you… Did you guys ever…” the Irishman mutters, fingers fidgeting.

 

“Have sex?” Anti completes his sentence and rolls his eyes. “Yes, we have. Several times. Then I got bored and left. End of story.”

 

Jack swallows, looking up at the ceiling, and there’s fear in his heart. Anti left that easily because of boredom. That doubt blooms in his mind again, wondering if the hitman will do the same with him. The Irishman feels a hint of jealousy too and it feels even weirder to be in Dark’s house now. They both argue like cats and dogs, but Jack can see the appeal behind it. Plus, Dark’s handsome. All the brown-haired man has is this weak body, collarbones poking out because he lost weight and now a possible ugly scar next to his stomach. Anti groans next to him and pushes himself up until he’s hovering over Jack, casting a shadow.

 

“You’re doing that again,” Anti says.

 

“Sorry…” Jack murmurs and points at his head. “It’s kinda fucked up in here...”

 

The green-haired man glares but they drop the subject. They spend the rest of the day in bed, eating whatever Dark will cook, and Anti stays by Jack’s side. Since they’re hiding for a while, the hitman has no reason to leave anymore. Jack only gets up to go to the bathroom with Anti’s help and the man takes a damp towel at some point to sort of wash the Irishman, so the bandage won’t get wet. He also shaves Jack’s beard, knuckles brushing on porcelain skin. When he changes the bandages again, Dark asks to take another look and Jack doesn’t like to be under his gaze. The green-haired man clenches his hands the whole time, hissing whenever Dark approaches the boy. Jack’s at least content that he’s not bleeding profusely anymore but it sucks to feel lightheaded. The raven-haired man tells them to let the skin breath for a bit and Anti relaxes when the man leaves the room.

 

His fingers lightly touch the stitched-up wound and Jack gasps, watching him. The Irishman’s heart skips a beat and he licks his lips.

 

“Will you still want me? With this scar?” he whispers, thinking he’s not so pure right now. “Will you still like me?”

 

Anti stares at him through long eyelashes. “I’ll always want you.”

 

“That’s a long ass time…”

 

“It’s not enough,” the hitman says and Jack’s quiet after that.

 

✁ ✂ ✃

 

A couple of days pass. Jack knows that because Dark tells him how long it’s been whenever the boy asks and the man has a fucking clock in the bedroom. Unlike someone he knows. Jack has nightmares whenever he sleeps now, waking up in a fright and thrashing in his sleep, seeing that man’s dead body behind his eyelids. Anti rests his forehead against the Irishman’s to soothe him, rubbing his thumbs on Jack’s cheek until he can breathe again. The hitman seems to be clinging more often to the boy, always finding a way to touch him. Anti makes sure to cover Jack with hickeys, marking him in the ways he can.

 

It’s early morning again and they’ve just woken up. Anti helps him to empty his bladder and brush their teeth. They go back to bed, a small new routine in this house, and stare at each other. Jack’s the one who kisses Anti first, pulling him down by the shirt collar, and the man almost loses balance and falls on top of the Irishman. The green-haired man positions himself in a way that he won’t be over the boy’s injury and he sighs into the slow kiss. Jack caresses Anti’s hair and their sleepy state fades away the more they kiss, breathing harder. The Irishman opens his mouth to let Anti’s split tongue in, moaning, and he touches the hitman’s back.

 

Anti’s fingers brush over a black string around Jack’s neck. It has the crooked bullet as a pendant and Jack remembers watching the hitman crafting this little necklace for him. The Irishman’s heart races against his ribcage and he whines.

 

“I w-wish we could…” the Irishman breathes, flushing at the thought of having Anti inside him.

 

“Yeah,” Anti purrs, knitting his eyebrows and lightly humping against Jack’s thigh. “Me too.”

 

“D-Do that again.”

 

The green-haired man thrusts harder and Jack feels Anti’s erection through his underwear. The Irishman tells him to keep going, watching the hitman hump his thigh to seek his own pleasure. Just the sight of Anti getting off like that makes Jack moan and he rolls up the man’s black shirt just enough to feel his body, muscles tensing up beneath his fingers. Jack scratches Anti’s back and kisses him harder, murmuring sweet nothings so the man will grunt and flush. The brown-haired man pulls his right leg up just enough to make Anti moan, cock pulsing and leaking precum, smearing Jack’s thigh. The hitman sucks on Jack’s bottom lip and the Irishman’s hand traces down to Anti’s waistband. Their eyes lock and the boy slides his fingers under it to wrap them around the man’s cock.

 

Anti stops humping Jack’s thigh for a second, mouth falling open to pant, and then he moves again. The Irishman’s eyes beams when seeing Anti so needy, flushing and whining. He curses out loud, heart clenching. Jack’s hard but he can’t strain himself because of this fucking bullet wound, but at least he can make Anti a wreck. The hitman buries his face in the crook of Jack’s neck, furiously thrusting into his hand, and they gasp in unison. The Irishman imagines that Anti is fucking him instead and he moans at the thought, pressing his thumb over the man’s slit and stroking his shaft. The green-haired man groans and his breathing turns sharper when he comes, jizzing on Jack’s hand and underwear. He spasms and moans over the boy.

 

Jack feels content. As odd as that sounds, right now, he feels somewhat… happy. The Irishman just made Anti come undone, made him a mess. That sends shivers down his spine. They sigh and clash their mouths in a harsh kiss. The Irishman still jerks him a couple of times, until the man is completely spent. Anti shudders, overstimulated. Jack removes his hand, licking his fingers to taste him. The hitman growls and sucks on the boy’s tongue. They hug each other, panting and making out.

 

“I guess I’m late for the party, huh.”

 

Jack jumps out of his skin when hearing Dark’s voice in the room and he winces. Anti turns his face to look at the man with a glare, still on top of the boy as if protecting him. The Irishman turns red as a tomato and covers his face, glad that Anti’s hiding him in a way. God. This is embarrassing. They didn’t hear the door opening, too distracted with each other. How long has he been there? Jack groans, wanting to disappear, and Anti all but yells at the man. Dark raises his arms as if he’s innocent, only saying that he came here to check on the boy. Anti growls, tightening his hold on Jack.

 

“I really don’t have the time to deal with your possessive bullshit, Anti,” Dark raises an eyebrow, not caring about the hitman threatening him. “Maybe lock the door next time, if you’re so grumpy about it.”

 

“U-Uh,” Jack mutters, ears burning. “C-Can you give us a minute…?”

 

“Of course, darling.”

 

The boy hears him leave and Anti turns back to him, scowling. “Cunt,” he whispers.

 

Jack bursts into laughter, and it’s a mix of pain as well because he’s moving too much, but he wasn’t expecting that at all. Anti says that with such conviction and frustration, like a kicked puppy, that it catches the Irishman off guard. The hitman watches him giggle, shoulders shaking, and he huffs. The scene is surreal, unusual between them, and Jack once again wishes to keep this feeling in his heart. When he finally stops laughing, Anti raises his eyebrows, asking if he’s done. Jack hums and nods. The green-haired man cleans himself first, taking off his boxer briefs in front of the boy. The Irishman watches him touch his soft cock with a damp towel and dress in new underwear. He cleans Jack’s hands and thigh next, sighing and kissing the boy once he’s done.

 

Dark walks in and the Irishman’s cheeks redden again. The raven-haired man smirks and tells him to relax. He looks at Jack’s stitches and touches the injury, satisfied that it’s not swollen and bleeding. The skin around it is purple and sore because of the impact of the bullet. Jack sighs, feeling self-conscious of the necklace over his chest. He looks at Anti next to him, staring with disheveled hair and a pink mouth. He looks tired too. They talk some more, for once not yelling at each other, and Anti changes the bandages once Dark is done. However, there’s a sound that makes everyone freeze in their places.

 

They hear cars approaching and Jack’s blood runs cold.

 

Dark and Anti exchange a look and they are quiet, just listening to the cars parking in front of the house. The Irishman sees the tan man purse his lips and the green-haired man shakes his head, both of them having an inner conversation that Jack can’t understand. Dark glares.

 

“Both of you stay here. Not a sound.”

 

“Anti…” Jack whispers, feeling all the joy from before leaving his body and being replaced by fear. “What is going on?” The hitman doesn’t answer him and he looks pale, staring into nothing. “Anti?” Jack asks and he gasps when the man hoists him up, until the boy is standing.

 

The green-haired man hastily puts a black jumper over Jack’s head and dresses him with the long coat again, making sure that everything is in place. Anti puts on some pants and Jack supports himself against the wall, feeling anxiety threatening to consume him. Anti puts the pocket knife in the Irishman’s coat. “You’re worrying me. Please, talk to me!” he continues.

 

“Jack,” Anti finally speaks and his eyes are large, looking like a madman. He steps closer and holds Jack’s face, whispering. “Do you trust me?”

 

“W-What are you ta-”

 

“Answer me!” He shakes the boy.

 

“I-I... I do… I trust you…” Jack stutters and his eyes scan Anti’s face, breathing sharply. “Y-You’re scared. You are scared, aren’t you?”

 

The hitman doesn’t answer him and just shushes him, listening to what’s happening outside the room. Jack’s shaking and he tries not to make a sound. His heart’s beating fast and he can’t stop looking at Anti, too afraid, and only paying attention to his expression. There’s shuffling and new steps inside the house, followed by Dark’s deep and calm voice. The tan man greets someone politely and, when they hear a stranger’s voice reply, Anti tenses up. He’s practically covering Jack with his body and the boy holds his arms. Anti swallows.

 

_“My apologies, Dark, for showing up without any warnings. I know you don’t like these things.”_

 

_“That is fine. You’ll be always welcome here, Felix.”_

 

Jack frowns, listening to the man’s name and wondering who he is. The Irishman asks under his breath if it’s that person behind the curtains, that organize all their missions, and Anti looks at him. He gives Jack a stiff nod.

 

_“I’ll get straight to the point so I won’t take your time. I just want to know where Anti is. He’s been causing me a lot of trouble. I’m sure you know.”_

 

_“Yes, I know. I’m afraid you are the one losing time… He must be halfway across the country by now.”_

 

There’s a long eerie silence and Jack really wants them to run from here, but there’s no way they can leave this place without being noticed. Anti tightens his hold on the boy and grimaces.

 

_“I will not leave until Anti comes out. I know he’s here because he trusts you. I’m sure you don’t want any mess in your house, right? My men are surrounding the area, you see.”_

 

Jack gasps when Anti takes a step back and he pulls his arms. “W-What are you doing?!” he whispers harshly. The hitman tells him that Dark worked a lot to have a normal life back, that he’s risking all of it for them too much already. He owns the man. Anti doesn’t want Felix to crush Dark’s life again. This is not his business.

 

“I’m going there,” Anti murmurs. “Stay here…”

 

“If you walk out of this room, I’m going with you!” Jack glares, tightening his hold on the man.

 

“Jack, for fuck sakes! Don’t make things difficult!”

 

“ _You_ are the one who made my life fucking difficult, you asshole! I’m coming with you!”

 

Anti wants to groan but covers his face with his hands instead, clearly frustrated as well. The corners of Jack’s eyes burn with tears and he wants everything to be like before. Just them and nothing else. They stare at each other, both with an agonized expression, and Anti tells him to stay behind his back. Jack nods, gripping the back of the hitman’s shirt when the door opens. They walk very slowly and it feels like the hallway is endless. Anti raises his hands in the air when they stop in the entrance of the living room, wanting to show he’s not carrying any weapons. Jack peeks from behind and sees Dark, looking tense. There’s a man sitting on a chair, legs crossed and hands on each arm of the chair. He has silver hair and striking blue eyes. Jack lets out a shaky breath, noticing the guards behind the man. This is not good.

 

“Felix,” Anti greets in a dry voice and all his conflicted emotions in that room are not showing anymore. He’s cold, unreadable, just like when they first met.

 

“Anti,” the silver-haired man smiles and claps his hands once. “I see that you brought your pet as well! That’s nice of you!” Anti stays quiet and Felix hums. “Listen… Out of respect for Dark, I do not want any unnecessary fight and I’ll be straight to the point. I wasn’t expecting you to react so strongly over your double, Anti. That’s costing me a lot.”

 

“What do you want?” the green-haired man asks.

 

“I lost two of my boys,” Felix sighs and brushes an invisible dust from his grey suit. “I don’t want to lose you too. You’re very valuable to me. The best one I have. So, to see someone like you causing so much trouble breaks my heart. It was completely unnecessary for you to keep that boy close. It made you feel attached. Too much, if I dare say.”

 

“What do you _want?_ ” Anti repeats through his teeth.

 

“Well, first, I wanna see your boy properly,” Felix says, raising his chin towards Jack in the back. Anti’s hands turn into fists and the Irishman feels his whole body tense up, as if he’s ready to jump onto someone’s throat. “We won’t hurt him. You have my word. I truly just want to see him.”

 

It must be something in the way Felix speaks that makes Anti unclench his hands, believing him after so many years, even if it’s just a little. Jack swallows and walks forward to be right next to Anti, revealing a mirror reflection. They exchange a look before turning their faces to Felix in sync, and the man’s eyes scan Jack up and down. Jack’s self-conscious of all the bruises on his body, even the ones Felix can’t see beneath the clothes, and the necklace seems to burn on his chest. His heart is beating frantically but he wants to be strong, they have to. The Irishman wants to hold Anti’s hand, to soothe him, but fights the urge and closes his hands into fists. The silver-haired man hums, squinting his eyes, and it doesn’t seem like the man likes what he sees.

 

“What would you do… if I ordered you to kill him right now?”

 

“Refuse,” Anti answers in a heartbeat.

 

“You have been compromised,” Felix sighs in annoyance. “Since you’re so valuable to me, Anti, I’ll make you an offer. Something tells me that if this man dies, you will go rogue and be even more unstable. If you come with me, I’ll let your boy live as long as he’s far away. You’ll lose all contact with him and your pet will go back to his normal life. If you try something behind my back again, I’ll immediately send my men to murder him and I’ll make you watch,” the silver-haired man smiles. “If you refuse this offer, my men will eliminate all of you right now. Including Dark. And you don’t want your boy to die like that, do you?”

 

It’s silent again, air heavy. Jack’s breathing picks up and his chest hurts, trembling while listening to this man. The brown-haired man looks at Anti, who’s looking down at the floor. Jack whimpers and tears fall from his face, not wanting them to be apart after everything. He can’t. He can’t leave Jack. They can’t do this. The Irishman doesn’t want Dark to die because of them. Fuck, Jack doesn’t want to die at all! Anti blinks and turns around to be in front of Jack, facing the boy. So many emotions take over the hitman’s face the moment he looks at Jack, only showing his true-self to him. The green-haired man grimaces and Jack sobs, shaking his head when realizing what the man is thinking.

 

“No!” Jack cries out, voice cracking and shaking. “You can’t! You c-can’t leave me! You promised me! Y-You _promised!_ ”

 

“I can’t let you die,” Anti whispers and holds the Irishman’s face, brushing fat tears away. “I know Felix, he’s not bluffing. I can’t runaway without you being shot. I don’t know what I will do if you die…”

 

Jack hyperventilates, grabbing the man’s shirt to pull him closer. “NO!” he screams, not caring if the others can hear them arguing. “Y-You said that _no one_ would take me a-away from you! You are a liar if you do this! I can’t-, I w-won’t handle this. I wo-”

 

Anti hugs him tight and Jack whimpers loudly, tears smearing his face. He chokes and his heart breaks when the hitman nods at Felix, murmuring something about picking his stuff up. Jack runs towards him, ignoring everyone, and he screams at Anti. The wound is burning and it hurts, but all the Irishman cares about right now is the sight of the green-haired man with duffel bags in hands. He’s acting so calm, he’s so fucking calm. Jack knows he’s hiding, that he’s being cold on purpose. The brown-haired man groans and shoves Anti on the chest, wanting to send him back to the end of the hallway. Jack’s vision is blurry and he’s shaking furiously. He grabs the man’s face, wanting Anti to look at him.

 

“You c-can’t just leave me that easily! After e-everything! Everything you d-did to me!” Jack yells between sobs. He pulls Anti for a harsh kiss, wanting to convince him to fight back and do something. The hitman kisses him back, breathing through his nose. “I d-don’t know how to be without you...”

 

The Irishman lets out a keening sound when he sees that Anti has unshed tears in his eyes, swallowing not to let them fall. He scowls and shakes his head, brushing emotions away. Jack begs for him to stay and everyone in the room is dead quiet, just watching the Irishman desperately trying to push Anti back. The hitman sends a look towards Dark and the raven-haired man finally walks to them, hand touching Jack’s shoulder. The brown-haired man screams and falls down on his knees, hugging Anti’s leg and begging over and over. Dark pulls him away and wraps his arms around the boy so the hitman can move. Jack wails when everyone starts leaving and Anti doesn’t look back no matter how hard the boy screams his name.

 

He can’t do this. He can’t simply leave and not fight, just accept that stupid offer. Dark keeps Jack on the floor and the boy scratches him, thrashing himself against the man’s hold. The Irishman’s heart breaks when he hears the cars leaving and he’s madly sobbing, snot running from his nose, and drooling on the floor. Jack can’t breathe. He can’t breathe. He chokes and the thought of Anti not being in this house right now, sends a pang through his chest. Jack looks down at the long coat and feels the necklace brush against his skin. The Irishman’s vision swims and he can’t make out what Dark’s saying to him. Anti left. Anti left and Jack breaks down, feeling the wound bleeding again. His eyes roll back and he faints, body falling limp onto the floor.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> dont hate me :^)


	10. Chapter 10

Jack wakes up in bed and his head’s throbbing, feeling like his skull is being split in half. He raises his hands in the air as if looking for something and he blinks, vision slowly focusing. There’s someone standing next to him and Jack can’t make out the silhouette yet, shaking his head and groaning. He coughs and weakly grips the person’s shirt, trying to gather his bearings.

 

“A-Anti?” he breathes.

 

“Sorry, kid. It’s just me.”

 

Dark’s voice reaches his ears and he grimaces. Jack looks around the room, finding the other side of the bed empty and with tousled sheets. The Irishman’s hands are hovering in the air, as if he’s not sure what to do with them, and he looks down to see Dark finishing wrapping a new bandage around his torso. There are bloody ones in a bowl and the wound feels sore again. Jack knows he’s feeling pain but it feels somewhat distant. The boy feels out of it and he mumbles something incoherent, pushing Dark away and getting up. He ignores the man’s complaints and walks out of the room, calling for Anti. He paces around the whole house, not even caring that he’s intruding on Dark’s personal space, just opening every door. The calling turns louder and louder, panicking rising underneath his skin and consuming his heart when there’s no answer.

 

“I…” Jack whispers to himself, hands wanting to find something to hold onto. “I-I… W-What...”

 

“Jack,” Dark touches his shoulder and the Irishman flinches. The tan man’s hand retreats with an apology and he sighs. “He’s not coming back.”

 

The brown-haired man wants to say that that’s a lie but the words stop halfway in his throat. His lips quiver and he feels hollow. Jack lets Dark guide him back to the room with slow steps, mostly because there’s no strength in the boy and he’s not quite there. There’s a static noise in his mind, on repeat. Not a single coherent thought. Dark snaps his fingers to call his attention and Jack tries focusing on him. The raven-haired man tells the Irishman that he can stay here for as long as he needs, but Jack finds himself shaking his head. No. Not without Anti. He won’t stay here without him. Jack probably must say that out loud, even though he doesn’t feel his mouth moving, but Dark sighs and looks at him with pity. Jack’s not sure how to feel about that. Jack’s not sure how to feel _at all._

 

The tan man purses his lips and picks up some stuff for Jack. All that the Irishman has is just books and the clothes he’s wearing, and even those belong to Anti. Dark fills a bag with supplies nonetheless and gives Jack a cell phone. The boy stares at it for a long time, seeing his reflection, until the man says it’s in case he wants to call for assistance. Jack blinks and does his best to hold the bag without dropping it. Dark asks again if the boy is certain and if he wants to leave now, and the Irishman nods. Jack accepts the painkiller, swallowing it dry, and he looks at the room one last time. Despite this not being their original bedroom, Jack still tears up and turns away. He’s in shock, right? Yes, of course. He must be. Right. Jack can’t grasp a single thought, just following Dark to the car with wobbly legs, bare feet.

 

They’re quiet and Jack’s head falls back on the car seat, staring at the sun setting while the man drives. Dark grumbles something about the boy explaining the way to his apartment and Jack has to fight his mind to remember his address. He looks down at his lap, wearing pants after a long time and holding the bag. The long coat feels weird against his skin. When they park the car, Jack looks outside with foggy eyes. Dark helps him to get out of the vehicle and Jack mumbles the code for the man to press in the intercom, so they can walk inside. There’s no one in the hallway, everyone busy with their lives and not caring. The tan man kicks the mat and takes a key from under it, unlocking the door for Jack.

 

“Kid…” Dark speaks after hours of quietness. “Anti did this to keep you safe, you know that, right? You guys are lucky enough that Felix didn’t end your life right there and then. This is for the best.” Jack says nothing and looks at his apartment, barely remembering it. “You were right. I have no idea what you’ve been through,” Dark continues. “Anything call me from that phone, okay? Don’t do anything stupid.”

 

The brown-haired man manages to nod once and walks inside, turning back to look at Dark. The man opens his mouth to say something else, but he closes it and just bows briefly. He turns around, leaving Jack. The Irishman closes the door and stares at the empty and dusty apartment. There are letters on the floor, bills that Jack can’t even bring himself to panic over right now. He looks around the living room, a couch and TV with the usual coffee table. A rather small round table behind it that leads to the kitchen, hidden behind a counter. On the right, a short hallway with two doors on opposite sides. One to his bedroom and the other, the bathroom. Jack sits down on the couch and drops the bag on the floor. He leans back and the fogginess in his brain slowly fades.

 

It’s quiet.

 

Too quiet.

 

A sudden sob leaves Jack’s lips and the boy shakes, ugly crying in the middle of the apartment. This can’t be it. This can’t be. Anti can’t suddenly show up in his life, kidnap Jack and fuck up his mind and heart, and then just leave. It’s strange how he’s suddenly here, in his apartment, as if everything is normal. Like it was all just a sick dream. Jack whimpers and covers his face with his hands, rope bruises fading to nothing. A ghostly touch. The Irishman curls into a ball and cries his heart out. Jack thought about this scenario, where he would run away and just go back to his usual self. But not like this. Jack didn’t think he would go back like this, broken into pieces and missing the man profoundly.

 

It feels like hours have passed when the boy slowly gets up, supporting himself on every surface he can find, and he walks into the bathroom. Jack turns the lights on and grimaces when looking in the mirror, seeing himself. Seeing Anti. Fuck. _Fuck._ The Irishman tightens his hands into fists and bares his teeth, angry at the man for all of this. For all these feelings. Jack screams and smashes the mirror with his right hand, shattered glass falling onto the floor. The pain makes him wake up and he groans, opening and closing his hand, bloody knuckles stinging. He glares at the floor, seeing the glass shining with the artificial light, and that’s not enough. It’s not enough.

 

_“I’ll always want you.”_

 

_“That’s a long ass time…”_

 

_“It’s not enough.”_

 

Jack growls and goes back to the living room to start breaking more stuff, throwing knick-knacks and old portraits everywhere. The shattering noises are a song to his ears and his feet leaves a weak trail of blood on the floor. He groans and remembers the pocket knife in the long coat, taking it in his hands. Jack tears his curtains and rips his cushions apart, foam and feathers floating in the air. The brown-haired man opens his bedroom door and thrashes everything up, cutting more pillows and breaking more mirrors. He’s breathing hard through his mouth and the wound’s pulsing, body sore and exhausted. Jack blinks and drops the knife on the floor, catching his breath. His throat burns from screaming so much and his face is puffy from crying, eyes red.

 

The brown-haired man puts his hands on his head, sitting in bed, and tries not to fall apart.

  


✁ ✂ ✃

  


He keeps the door unlocked.

 

The windows stay ajar, despite the cold.

 

Jack barely sleeps, not handling the nightmares that come to kiss his mind and there’s no one there to calm him down this time. The Irishman has to talk with the apartment manager about his financial situation at one point, and the guy is surprised to see him. The man says he wasn’t expecting Jack to go back from his trip so soon and the brown-haired man frowns, not understanding. When the manager points out the change of hair color, Jack recalls Anti bringing him clothes one day, meaning that the hitman probably faked some story so they wouldn’t suspect his sudden disappearance. It’s really stupid, but since no one knows Jack in this goddamn building, they didn’t think much about it anyway. The man purses his lips, watching the boy, and makes a silly joke about Jack looking exhausted.

 

Yes. Yes, he is exhausted.

 

The brown-haired man has dark circles under his eyes and hollow cheeks. Jack can feel his ribs poking out from his skin and he can almost count all of them. The Irishman occasionally makes himself eat, as the days go by. He shoves pieces of cheese down his throat and drinks water. Jack’s half-present all the time, talking to employees from his bank with a deadpan expression and just trying to solve all his visible problems. He’ll have to find a job soon. Fuck. Jack struggles to leave the apartment enough already. He looks down at his feet, wrapped up with bandages just like his knuckles. It’s starting to heal and he’ll have to remove the stitches from the bullet wound soon as well. It still hurts, but nothing hurts more than his heart. Jack can handle the physical pain. That he can do. It’s grounding, in a way.

 

It takes a few days for Jack to open that duffel bag next to the torn couch and he finds the books Anti gave him, including the sketchbook. He opens it and finds that drawing of the hitman, still incomplete. Half-shaded. There’s something scribbled next to it and Jack knits his eyebrows, fingers touching the paper. _Abel_ , it says. The writing is crooked, as if it was written in a hurry, and the Irishman remembers Anti going to that bedroom to pick up his stuff. Jack reads it again. _Abel_. He feels the corners of his eyes burn when he realizes that it’s Anti’s real name and that the hitman tried to tell him before leaving. Jack cries, covering his face with a hand and putting the sketchbook away so he won’t smudge it with tears.

 

Abel.

 

Jack looks out the window next to his bed, where he’s sitting, and wonders what Anti’s doing right now. Whenever the boy manages to leave the apartment, all he does is seek for green hair in the middle of a crowd. Freckles on pale skin. A hint of a smile and a scowl. A cigarette between pink lips. Jack sighs and he feels lost. There are no more bruises around his wrists and ankles, but the boy continues to sleep with his hands close together as if the ropes are still there. The cell phone Dark gave him a few days ago is resting on the nightstand, inside a drawer that he never opens, and Jack fidgets with the bullet pedant around his neck. His days are slow and uncomfortably quiet. Cold.

 

Most of the time, he walks around the apartment naked and only wearing the long coat. Usually, he’d be embarrassed to be doing this. But after everything with Anti, this feels normal and he tries to be as comfortable as he can. Jack doesn’t replace any mirrors in the house, too disturbed by any reflection, and he shaves his beard by touch. There are a few cuts on his face because of this stupidity, but he couldn’t care less. Jack cuts the stitches from the bullet injury with heavy breaths and shaky hands, looking down at his stomach and trying not to miss it. He’s done this before with the hitman. He can do this alone. Anti does it too.

 

Days turn into weeks and, when he’s feeling a little bit more like himself, a little more alert, Jack touches himself. The brown-haired man jerks himself with one hand while the other caresses his chest and goes down to his asshole. He fantasizes about the hitman kissing him and making him weak, fingering himself and pretending it’s Anti instead. Jack moans and pants in bed, glassy eyes staring at the white ceiling. He strokes his shaft furiously until he comes with a hoarse scream, tears streaming down his face. It always leaves a bad feeling in his heart afterwards. Jack will always feel nauseous and self-conscious of his breathing in the quietness of the room. Jack wants these feelings to go away. He really does. But Anti never quite leaves his mind, does he?

 

Weeks turn into a month and the wound is scarring, pinkish sensitive skin. Jack’s hair is getting too long, falling over his eyes, and he’ll need to cut it soon. Jack needs to do a lot of things, really. But he mostly stays in bed, staring at nothing and missing something. Loud noises make the boy jump out of skin, anything remotely close to the sound of a gun is even worse. Jack’s dreams are vivid enough already, so staying inside is the safest he can be. The long coat doesn’t smell of Anti anymore and Jack whimpers, wishing the man would walk into his apartment and end this living nightmare. Everything is a mess and he hates it. Jack’s heart aches and he really doesn’t know how long he’ll be able to take this. It’s frightening to see how much the Irishman’s changed after Anti. His mind simply can’t go back to how he was. It’s difficult. Painful.

 

Jack replays the memory of the hitman leaving over and over. Over and over. Over and over. Over and over.

 

Time passes and he looks down at the cell phone in his hands, legs up and back resting against the bed frame. Jack’s body seems to be constantly trembling, every so slightly, and he tightens the hold around the phone. Jack turns it on and watches the screen load to a generic background. He purses his lips, thinking about what he wants to do. The brown-haired man looks around the messy room and he knits his eyebrows, realizing how fucked up he’s acting. Jack’s free, right? There are no more ropes trapping him and he’s in the outside world like he always wanted. The Irishman blinks, focusing his vision back on the cell phone with a frown. He thought about calling Dark. For what, he’s not sure. It’s not like the raven-haired man can bring Anti back, even if he asked. Jack rubs his left eye and sighs, dropping the phone in bed.

 

The Irishman needs to wake the fuck up. He may still have strong feelings towards the green-haired man, but that won’t change anything. It won’t make him feel better. Jack groans, listening to the quiet. He puts a hand under a pillow and takes the pocket knife that he keeps there, scowling at the object. It was so easy for Jack to be kidnapped, to be shot, to be hurt. He needs to learn. He needs to defend himself in a way. The Irishman throws the knife towards the other side of the wall, but it only hits it and falls on the floor. Jack was expecting it to stick in the wall right away and he snorts at that silly thought. Maybe with time, it will.

 

Jack tidies up the apartment after another week and the wall from the opposite side of his bed is filled with tiny holes and cuts. He’s been practicing throwing the pocket knife and messing with it in his hands, swinging it left and right. There are cuts on his skin and bandages around his fingers, but Jack embraces the small pain. It grounds him. The Irishman also manages to find a simple job in retail, just stocking products and carrying boxes around. He doesn’t talk much and just zones out while doing some work, looking at his bruised hands and feeling the weight of the necklace. Sometimes he turns around when the hair on the back of his neck rises, feeling like he’s being watched, but finds nothing.

 

Occasionally Dark sends text messages, checking on the boy. Jack never replies to him and forgets about it while smoking a cigarette on his small porch. The brown-haired man thinks about going to a shooting range sometimes, but he’s still not comfortable with the idea. He touches the healing wound next to his stomach, under his white shirt, and feels the marred skin there. Jack scowls, remembering a rooftop and a smile.

 

Jack steps out from his store to breathe fresh air every now and then. He opens the back door that takes him to an alley and he leans against the brick wall, staring up at the sky. The air is cold and he’s not wearing Anti’s long coat. Jack only uses it in his apartment, not wanting people to touch it. The Irishman closes his eyes and breathes, in and out, calming down. The door creaks open and he hears steps next to him. Jack’s heart picks up and he swallows, waiting for something to happen.

 

“Aren’t you cold?”

 

The Irishman’s face falls when he doesn’t hear the voice he’s looking for. Jack looks up next to him to see one of the employees and he can’t remember the man’s name. The guy smiles, one of the few people here who tries talking to Jack and doesn’t pretend he’s invisible. But he knows that the man’s interested in him. The brown-haired man shrugs. The guy hums and he has dark skin, brown eyes and a heart-shaped mouth. He calls Jack weird but it comes with a chuckle and his voice is light. The Irishman stares at him for a long time until the man squirms under his gaze. Jack huffs with a grin and takes a cigarette from his pocket, lighting it between his lips. The man’s eyes fall to his mouth and he leans closer, arm resting next to Jack’s head. The brown-haired man blows smoke between them and waits.

 

The dark-haired man tentatively leans forward, looking at Jack as if making sure that this is okay. The Irishman does nothing and the man gently closes the gap between them. The kiss is soft and barely there, too tender for his liking. Jack tilts his head to deepen the kiss, feeling the man’s tongue brushing into his mouth. His heart aches and it doesn’t feel right. This is not what he wants. He doesn’t like this. The brown-haired man breaks the kiss and shakes his head, already feeling tears in his eyes. He drags from his cigarette to hide them. The man looks confused at Jack’s pained expression.

 

“You’re not him,” the Irishman whispers, throat closing and voice strained. “Leave me alone.”

 

The guy frowns and asks if he’s okay, apologizing. Jack holds back a sob, knowing this person is being kind and wishing him no harm. The Irishman shakes his head and apologizes too, saying he just wants to be alone. The man nods, a little sad, but walks away nonetheless. Jack whimpers and rubs his temple, cigarette between his fingers. His face is red from crying and he hates it. Everytime Jack thinks he’s cried enough for a lifetime, but he’s always wrong. Jack throws the cigarette on the floor and steps on it, pretending it’s his heart instead. The brown-haired man touches the bandages around his fingers and he sighs, feeling empty and missing something. He’s so tired.

 

He’s so fucking tired.

 

When the sun sets, Jack goes back to his apartment. He walks up the staircases instead of using the elevator, wanting to feel something. The floor from the hallway creaks with every step and he simply opens the door, getting inside. Jack looks around and he knits his eyebrows. Everything is in place, still a bit messy from all that episode, but the Irishman feels something different. He gasps and runs to his bedroom, shouting the hitman’s name and opening the door with a racing heart, pupils wide. Jack sees nothing and his face falls, knowing his mind is playing tricks on him. The brown-haired man touches his healing scar, feeling it ache, and he sighs.

 

It’s quiet.

 

 

 

 


	11. Chapter 11

“You’re a mess.”

 

Jack glares and crosses his arms, looking at Dark standing in front of him. He insisted on visiting the Irishman after so many calls and texts ignored, thinking the boy was dead. Jack tells him he wouldn’t do such a thing but Dark doesn’t seem to believe in him. The brown-haired man is sitting on the torn couch, wearing only a shirt and boxer briefs. The tan man has his hands behind his back, wearing a black suit and silver tie. Dark sighs and looks around the apartment, grimacing at the sigh. Jack feels a bit embarrassed but says nothing, only leaning back and pulling his legs up. The raven-haired man purses his lips.

 

“Anti would hate to see you like this,” he continues and Jack’s face crumbles when he hears that. “You’re better than this. He gave you what you wanted.”

 

“No, he didn’t,” the Irishman replies. “He didn’t because I want _him_ and he’s not here.”

 

Dark huffs with a smile. “He’ll go nuts when he hears that.”

 

Jack’s eyebrows go up and he looks at the man, thinking about what he said. “Why? H-Have you been in touch with him?!” The brown-haired man suddenly stands up and his heart races, gasping when Dark says nothing. “Y-You have! Dark! Please, t-tell him to come back! Please! I want him back! _Please!_ ”

 

“My darling…” Dark whispers and he touches Jack’s chin, caressing him there. The boy lets out a shaky breath, trembling at the thought of Anti listening to his words. The tan man stares at him, hazel eyes locked on blue. “I see why he likes you so much…” Dark leans closer and their noses almost touch. Jack holds back a sob and a tear falls from his eye. “There’s so much emotion in you… It’s so powerful. You’re so beautiful. No wonder Anti changed so much for you...”

 

The Irishman knits his eyebrows and thinks about the hitman, knowing he’d be mad if he ever saw someone else touching him. There’s this side of Jack that wants to make him angry, wants to hurt him in some way as well. Anything to bring him back, even if it’s out of rage. That employee was too gentle and not right, unwelcome. But perhaps a man that’s also a killer, a man who knows how harsh Anti can be… Perhaps that will be better. He takes a deep breath and closes the gap between them, kissing Dark as hard as he can. The raven-haired man knits his eyebrows and freezes, hands hovering in the air. Jack adds more pressure and holds the man’s face until he kisses back. Dark pushes the boy up against a wall and Jack gasps into his mouth, feeling the man’s hands under his shirt. The Irishman bites his bottom lip and Dark pulls his legs up, making the boy moan and tug on his tie. His heart beats fast against his ribcage and the raven-haired man slides his hand down, palming the boy through his underwear. Jack kisses him desperately, trying to find some comfort, even though this hurts his heart. He can feel the man smiling and he pulls back, shaking his head.

 

“You’re not going to find what you’re looking for, darling. Not with me.” Dark murmurs. “As much as I’d _love_ to ravish you, to make you scream underneath me… this is not what you want. You know that.”

 

Jack whimpers, tugging on his tie harder and pecking his lips. Dark doesn’t deny any of the kisses, wanting a piece of the boy. They’re both using each other and the Irishman sighs, letting his head fall on Dark’s shoulder. It hurts. It really does. The brown-haired man wishes he could do this, that he could try to belong to someone else. But it feels so painful.

 

“I’m so sorry,” Jack whispers and Dark raises his head, brushing the tear away. He doesn’t seem upset for being used. For all of this. He’s calm and gentle, voice soothing. “I’m his…”

 

“That’s too bad for me,” the tan man smiles and puts the boy down. “You’re quite tempting.”

 

“Talk to Anti,” he sighs. “Please, I’m begging him.”

 

Dark doesn’t answer him, only brushes strands of hair away from the Irishman’s forehead and kisses him there. Jack purses his lips and tightens his hold on the man’s suit just one more time before letting go. He sits back on the couch and the raven-haired man watches him for a moment. He fixes his suit and hair, clearing his throat before turning around. He tells Jack to eat more and take care of himself, that he should close the windows because it’s too cold in here. The Irishman listens to the door opening and closing, Dark’s steps fading in the distance. He wraps his hand around the necklace and he sighs, lips pink from kissing. Sometimes Jack catches himself thinking about them running away, going to a quiet place where no one will hurt them. It’s silly, he knows, but all he has is a bit of hope and despair.

 

Jack thinks of Dark’s words, that Anti wouldn’t like to see him this way. He’s not wrong. The green-haired man would throw a tantrum over Jack not taking care of himself, for living like this. The Irishman huffs and fidgets with the band-aids on his fingers. He ignores his empty stomach and just walks to his bedroom, wanting to lie down. The room smells of nothing in particular and Jack hates it. He falls in bed and his hand immediately goes to touch the pocket knife under the pillow, wanting to just hold it for safety. Jack leaves the bedroom door open as well, not caring about it. The Irishman closes his eyes and focuses on his breathing, slowly falling asleep.

 

The other side of the bed is cold and empty, and Jack groans under his breath after another nightmare. He’s exhausted, his body’s sore and his head’s throbbing. Fuck. Fuck all of this. There’s anger inside his heart for being left alone, for _feeling_ these things. He’s pathetic. _Pathetic_. Jack curls into a ball and remains in bed throughout the day, shivering from the cold. The brown-haired man covers himself with his blankets and just dozes off, not going to work. He really doesn’t want to think anymore, the static being too loud in his mind after Dark’s visit, so he stays there. Nightmares come and go, making the boy squirm and gasp. Jack turns around on his stomach and his vision’s blurry from sleep, heart beating slow. Sometimes he forces himself to go to the bathroom, only to return to this blanket cocoon.

 

He still doesn’t go to work after a couple of days and he doesn’t respond to any messages from Dark, cell phone shining every now and then on the nightstand. Jack knows that he’s feeling depressed, that he’s having a sort of episode. Sometimes he catches himself thinking about wanting this to be over, wanting to wake up from this life. The Irishman’s in this weird bubble of feeling nothing but numb, time passing but never ending. The cold wind blows into the room and Jack doesn’t care, already shivering from it. Jack rubs his face on the pillow and he wraps his fingers around the pocket knife every now and then, trying to ground himself. The brown-haired man blinks and the sun is setting. He blinks again and the moon is up in the sky.

 

Jack’s head swims and he feels awful, barely moving now. He can’t bring himself to eat, shower, to shave his beard, anything at all. Sometimes he cries, silent tears streaming down his face and staining the pillow. Every time he blinks, time passes, and his eyelids are heavy. Jack barely feels a hand on his forehead at one point and he looks up to see Dark’s blurry figure in front of him, pursing his lips. Huh. The man must have tried to talk to Jack again but the boy didn’t listen. The apartment is always open, so the Irishman’s not surprised to see him. Jack doesn’t even flinch at the contact, too tired and mind not present. Dark’s mouth moves but Jack can’t make out the words for shit, only blinking and his eyes focus on nothing. The brown-haired man tries swallowing but it hurts, and yet he refuses the glass of water that Dark brings him. The tan man tries pulling the boy towards it but Jack lets out a weak whimper, curling more in bed. The raven-haired man leaves and the Irishman goes back to sleep.

 

The cell phone noises eventually stop, battery finally dying and leaving Jack in the silence. When his bladder threatens to explode and his stomach aches, the Irishman drags himself to the bathroom with wobbly legs. He’s trembling and he feels nauseous, craving bed immediately. Jack buries his face in the pillow, back to the door, and he touches the pocket knife. The brown-haired man doesn’t know what time it is or how long has passed now, everything blending in, and he repeats some memories in his head. It’s mostly that night on the rooftop, remembering how breathtaking it was to have the hitman so close to him. How they moaned in sync, hearts fluttering and legs tangling. So warm. Jack feels _so_ cold.

 

He hallucinates Anti, imagining him walking into the bedroom and pursing his lips. He would complain under his breath and shake his head at Jack, upset that the boy didn’t take care of himself. The Irishman thinks about how Anti would carry him to a warm bath, moving him like a ragdoll. He would wash Jack’s hair, caressing him there, and he would shave his beard. Jack would lean closer to the touch and he sighs, wishing for this to happen. The hitman would dry him deliberately and put him in warm clothes, bringing him back to bed. Just like they used to do. The Irishman thinks of the green-haired man joining him in bed, curling around him. Jack craves that deeply and he hates his mind for doing this to him. Anti would caress his skin, murmuring for the brown-haired man to come back. _Come back._ The boy closes his glassy eyes, almost feeling the touch.

 

“Come back…”

 

Jack slowly opens his eyes, trying to focus his vision. He feels warmth and his fingers twitch, sensing something next to him. The Irishman lets out a choking sound and whimpers, seeing strands of green hair and feeling hands wrapping around him. Jack’s heart aches and he shakes his head, cursing his mind once more. The Irishman mumbles with a hoarse voice that this is not real, that this is in his head. That Anti left. It hurts but it’s true, and Jack’s afraid of going insane for good. Dark was right, he’s a fucking mess. He feels a weight on top of him and that familiar voice talks again, closer this time.

 

“I am real, I am here,” it says. “Come back to me, baby…”

 

Tears stream down his puffy face and he sobs, feeling something after so long. Jack’s chest moves up and down, breathing hard through his mouth, and his pupils widen. The Irishman wails, crying out loud as hard as he can, and his shoulders shake. Jack’s eyes are filled with fat tears and he weeps, body trembling. There are pained moans coming out of his mouth and the hands around him tighten their hold, face buried in Jack’s neck. The brown-haired man raises his arms to see that he’s wearing fresh clothes and he sobs more, realizing that he wasn’t imagining before. Jack’s heart hurts. Everything hurts. It hurts.

 

“A-Anti,” the Irishman cries out. “Anti…”

 

“There you are…” the man raises his head to look down at the boy and Jack sees tears in his eyes as well.

 

“W-Wha… Why… I-I…” Jack can’t speak, choking on tears. His arms are hanging in the air, not knowing what to do.

 

Anti moves away, giving the boy space to breathe. Jack hasn’t looked at the man properly yet, only with the corner of his eye. The Irishman puts a hand over his chest and face, trying to calm down, and the hitman’s quiet. It takes a long time for the boy to take a deep breath without sobs and he groans, grinding his teeth while sitting up. He feels all these ranging feelings boiling under his skin after all this time. It’s a mix of sorrow, frustration and exhaustion. Jack’s so fucking mad at the hitman for doing this to him and Anti gets up from the bed, taking a few steps back, as if feeling the boy’s anger. The Irishman finally looks at him and Anti looks broken too, shoulders hunched down and dark eyes. There’s a new scar on his face that goes up to his right eyebrow and down to his cheek. He’s wearing a black jacket with a hoodie, curly green hair sticking everywhere, and he sees Jack let it all out.

 

“YOU LIAR!” the brown-haired man screams, rage bursting in sudden strength and he clenches his hands into fists. “You left me after _everything_ that you did to me! I begged y-you to stay! H-How could you just leave and do that to me?!” Jack continues to shout and he grunts, shaking.

 

“I was protecting you!” Anti shouts back.

 

“You were protecting _yourself!_ ”

 

“Felix would wipe you out the moment I showed any sign of resistance! I couldn’t do anything! Do you think think I wanted this?!”

 

“You hurt me!” Jack screams, and their voices get louder and louder when arguing.

 

“I know but I didn’t mean to, okay?!”

 

Without thinking, he takes the pocket knife from under the pillow and throws at the man. Anti dodges it and the knife hits the wall, sticking into it. The hitman’s eyes widen and he looks back at Jack, who’s groaning and crying. The green-haired man walks up to the weapon and pulls it out of the wall, staring at the many marks there. They both glare at each other. Anti runs towards him, grabbing the boy’s neck, and Jack scratches his face. The hitman groans, trying to tighten his hold on the Irishman but the boy keeps fighting back, both of them hitting each other in rage. Jack cries and grunts, kicking Anti’s side with his knee. The brown-haired man screams to let him go but he barely pushes the man away, slowly giving in. Anti’s just trying to hold him, hands not choking him, and Jack slaps him in the face. The hitman gasps and stops moving, right cheek starting to redden.

 

“I hate you!” Jack sobs. “I hate you, I hate you, I hate you!”

 

“No,” Anti whispers. “No, you don’t.”

 

“I want to…”

 

”I don’t believe in you, not even for a second.”

 

Jack’s heart aches and he feels confused. The fuck is he doing here? As much as he wished for it, wasn’t there a deal between him and Felix? What is that supposed to mean, then? Jack hyperventilates and Anti touches the boy’s cheek. He rubs his thumb there and soothes him, resting his forehead against the Irishman’s.

 

“I didn’t know what to do when I first found you… All I knew is that I had to have you. I thought that if I had you close to me, you would be safe… but I was wrong,” Anti whispers. “I only brought you pain. I _know_ I’m selfish.”

 

“What are you doing here?” Jack mumbles back, rage slowly fading away and being replaced with exhaustion. “What about that fucking deal?”

 

They breathe the same air and the Irishman closes his eyes, holding Anti’s arm to support himself. He feels the man’s breath hitting his face and he can’t bring himself to close the gap between them, too torn and confused. Heartbroken.

 

“I promise I’ll tell you soon, I just…” he sighs and whimpers. “Just let me stay here for a moment… I didn’t want to leave. I really didn’t. I told you to trust me… Just let me stay...”

 

“So you can leave again?” the boy whispers. “I can’t live like this, having to wait for you for who knows how long. This was already painful enough.”

 

Their expressions scream agony and Jack wants to be near him, he wants to touch him. Anti kisses his knuckles and leans down to go for his mouth but, instead, he pushes the man away. They exchange a look and the Irishman turns his face away, swallowing and holding back the urge to apologize.

 

“Tell me what happened,” Jack says. It takes a moment for the green-haired man to reply, cleary upset that the boy refused to kiss him.

 

“Dark was watching you for me,” Anti murmurs, knitting his eyebrows. “He kept updating me but you weren’t answering him in any way. When he found you like this… I knew it was enough. I figured it was worth it risking everything again, if I at least could see you one last time.”

 

Jack’s heart swells and he blinks, staring at the man. “Does Felix know?” he whispers.

 

“I’m not sure,” the hitman purses his lips. “I don’t know if someone is watching the building too, so I came through the rooftop. But I can tell Felix thinks that that threat was enough to keep me away for good...” He shakes his head and huffs. “He’s wrong.”

 

The brown-haired man sighs and thinks that this is a whole fucking mess. Anti tries kissing him again but Jack shoves him away, hitman huffing. The Irishman sits up, head swimming, and he leaves the bed with wobbly legs. He stumbles, falling on the floor, and he tells Anti not to touch him when the man moves to help. The green-haired man freezes in place and Jack supports himself on the wall, slowly getting up. His stomach hurts like hell and he needs to eat, otherwise he’ll pass out. Jack extends his hand towards the hitman, asking for the knife back, and Anti glares. When the Irishman says it belongs to him, the man raises an eyebrow but gives him the pocket knife. Jack places in his waistband and sighs, feeling a bit safer.

 

“You have been practicing,” Anti murmurs. “You’ve changed.”

 

“ _You_ changed me,” Jack replies back and walks away.

 

The hitman follows him quietly, only watching the boy go to the kitchen. Anti complains about the place and points at the gash on the couch with a scowl. Jack ignores him and opens the fridge. There’s barely anything edible and he huffs, picking out a few eggs to fry in a pan. He doesn’t even bother adding any seasoning, only wanting to put something in his stomach fast. Anti asks why there are no mirrors in the apartment and where his long coat is. Jack sends him a look over his shoulder, too tired to even talk about it. The green-haired man purses his lips and watches the boy making some food. The Irishman eats in small pieces, not wanting to feel sick and digging a fork straight into the pan while leaning on the stove. Anti scowls even more, telling him to wait for it to cool a bit or Jack will burn himself. When the brown-haired man doesn’t reply, the hitman approaches him and Jack takes a step back.

 

“Why are you not letting me touch you?!” Anti groans, grinding his teeth.

 

Jack drags a hand over his face and he sighs, getting himself a glass of water. He wants to touch Anti, yes, but he’s suffering so much. “You didn’t even apologize…” he whispers, looking down at the floor and supporting himself on the counter. “It’s been almost four months. Four months. I’ve been living in this weird state of mind and everything seems so pointless to me. I’m tired, Anti.” He sighs and looks at the man, heart clenching. “I missed you. I missed you so much, it broke my heart. But now that you’re here I’m just really… overwhelmed. It hurts. There’s this… pang in my chest that I don’t know what to do with.“

 

Anti grimaces and clenches his hands a couple of times, wanting to be closer but staying still. He swallows and clears his throat. It’s so strange and yet familiar, being in the same room with the hitman but still having this conflict between them. Jack lets out a pained sound when he notices the man holding back tears.

 

“Don’t,” Jack whimpers, feeling the corners of his eyes burning. “Don’t do this to me. Don’t you fucking dare.”

 

“I’m sorry...” Anti murmurs and the Irishman shuts his eyes, covering his face with his hands. “I’m sorry, I’ll make it up to you...” Jack hears him walking forward tentatively and he sobs when Anti touches his arms, pushing them down. The green-haired man buries his face in the crook of Jack’s neck, hugging him, and the boy doesn’t move. His heart aches and it hurts to breathe. Anti rubs his face, beard brushing on the Irishman’s neck, and Jack smells tobacco again. “I’m _so_ f-fucking sorry, Jack...”

 

The brown-haired man feels Anti’s tears smearing his jumper and Jack cries too, shoulders shaking and finally moving to hug the man back. Anti presses him against the counter and they cry in silence. The hitman touches his hands, feeling the band-aids there and Jack says nothing. Anti moves his face again, making the boy shiver, and the Irishman looks at him. It’s the first time he sees the hitman actually crying, actual tears streaming down his freckled face. Jack holds back a sob and touches the man’s new scar above his eyebrow, feeling the marred skin. Anti’s fingers go under his jumper, touching Jack’s own scar. Their hands explore each other, thumbs caressing cheeks and fingers tugging on hair lightly. Anti leans forward, resting his forehead against Jack’s and the boy feels his breath hitting his face. Their mouths touch, both feeling a pull in their hearts. It’s not a kiss but their lips and beards brush when the green-haired man speaks.

 

“Please…” he murmurs. “I want you, baby…“

 

Jack grimaces and closes the small gap between them, both whimpering and tightening their hold. Anti kisses him deeply, sucking on his bottom lip until he has to breathe again. The Irishman’s heart swells and beats against his ribcage, something stirring inside the boy after so long. They sigh and tilt their heads, mouths opening and tongues touching. Jack moans and grabs the man’s hair. Anti rolls up the boy’s jumper so his hands can caresses his back underneath, cold skin getting warm again. The Irishman breathes and he can’t get enough of this man. Their wet lips smack, noise filling the room. It’s intense and their moves are desperate, both wanting to touch each other as much as they can. Jack bites Anti’s lip and the hitman groans, going for his neck. The brown-haired man moans and throws his head back, being vulnerable and showing more skin.

 

The Irishman gasps when Anti’s hand goes under his boxer briefs, pocket knife falling onto the floor, and he touches Jack’s cock. The brown-haired man sucks in air and holds the man’s wrist, not sure if he wants to stop him or not. Anti kisses him some more, muffling the boy’s moans, and Jack tugs hard on his hair. The hitman grunts and pushes Jack’s underwear down to his knees, unzipping his own pants. The Irishman breathes hard through his mouth and takes off Anti’s jacket, pulling his sweater up and throwing it across the floor. They help each other to remove their clothes, hands shaking in expectation. Jack sighs when their bodies touch and he locks his legs around Anti’s hips, chest-to-chest. The green-haired man sucks his own fingers and he feels Jack’s asshole, watching the boy gasp. The Irishman sobs, missing him, and Anti stretches him open. They’re panting, overwhelmed, and their tears smear their faces.

 

Jack strokes the man’s cock, feeling it harden and grow in his hand, and he shouts when Anti scissors him faster. The brown-haired man mumbles something about being enough and the green-haired man groans, biting his earlobe.

 

“Oh, god! P-Please! Touch me!” Jack cries out and fucks himself on Anti’s fingers. “It’s b-been… It’s been too long, I fucking miss y-you! I need you!”

 

The hitman growls and removes his fingers, walking out of the kitchen while holding Jack in his arms. Anti throws some books from the round table and places the boy there, digging his nails into Jack’s asscheeks. The Irishman looks up at the man and he feels the tip of Anti’s cock at his entrance, slowly stretching him. Jack spreads his legs and his chest hurts, breathing too fast. Their pupils are wide, eyes practically black, and they groan when Anti penetrates him. It stings and tears fall from his eyes. The hitman slams into him and Jack shouts, back arching. He sobs and tells him to move again, holding himself on the edge of the table. Anti’s mouth is ajar and he fucks Jack furiously, skin smacking while they scream. Jack’s knuckles turn white and Anti leans down to kiss him, table creaking and moving back. The Irishman’s cock throbs and trickles precum, heat below his stomach growing. The green-haired man hits his sweet spot over and over, and Jack’s heart hurts. The corner of his eyes turn black and he feels lightheaded.

 

“A-Ah! S-Stop, stop!” he mumbles. “It’s… It’s too much, I… I can’t breathe, I can’t breathe...”

 

“Fuck!” Anti curses under his breath and his thrusts stop abruptly, making the boy gasp.

 

Jack sucks in air and touches the man’s cheek, holding him there while he tries to put himself together. Anti’s panting and his arms are trembling above the boy, overwhelmed as well. Their cocks pulse and it hurts, but they don’t move. Jack’s vision turns clearer and he swallows. The green-haired man has tears on his eyelashes and Jack takes a deep breath, moaning when Anti leans in more to feel the Irishman’s necklace. Their foreheads touch and they breathe in sync, lungs full of air. The brown-haired man clenches his asshole, feeling the man’s cock inside him, and the hitman sobs. Jack caresses his hair and Anti tentatively thrusts again.

 

“Let me fuck you,” he breathes. “C’mon, baby… I want to make you scream my name…”

 

The Irishman blinks and he opens his mouth to say something, wanting to see Anti’s reaction. They lock their gaze and Jack’s heart skips a beat.

 

“Abel,” he whispers.

 

The hitman’s eyes widen, mouth ajar. After a few seconds, Jack thinks that he broke the man but, when he’s about to ask if he’s okay, Anti thrusts hard and the boy’s toes curl. The Irishman chokes and they move again, faster and faster. The table creaks louder and Jack keeps calling his name, mumbling sweet nothings while looking at the ceiling through glassy eyes. Anti moans in his ear and he scratches the man’s back, feeling his muscles tense up. Jack shouts with every thrust, prostate being abused, and his leaking cock smears their stomachs. The Irishman frowns when the table keeps making too many noises and he mumbles for Anti to stop, but the man doesn’t listen. When he slams into Jack again, they hear a snap and the table breaks. They swear out loud and they fall on the floor with a thud, groaning in pain. Anti pants, still holding him, and Jack laughs in the middle of the broken wood. He laughs and moans, hitman still fucking him frantically.

 

“Oh, oh, fuck!” the Irishman screams. “A-Abel! _Abel!_ ”

 

Anti groans and comes first, pulsing inside Jack and the boy feels warm. The hitman convulses on top of him and the Irishman reaches his own climax, jizzing between them. They spasm on the floor, feeling their orgasms run through their bodies, and Jack cries out. They moan and the brown-haired man huffs, catching his breath. Anti rubs his cheek against Jack’s and clashes their mouths in a lazy kiss, beards brushing. They peck their lips over and over, sighing together. Jack murmurs Anti’s real name between kisses and the hitman hums, sucking on his bottom lip. The static sound is gone and Jack wraps his arms around the man, breathing in. Those passionate words are on the tip of his tongue again but he swallows them, knowing that it won’t matter because this won’t last for too long. Jack buries his face in the crook of Anti’s neck and sighs, aware that the man has his heart. It's bittersweet.

 

 

 

 


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just wanted to let you guys know that I went looking for some reference pics!!! Sooo this is the [long coat](http://i01.i.aliimg.com/wsphoto/v0/2047626679_1/2014Fashion-men-s-casual-trench-coat-black-men-long-coat-single-breasted-men-coat-for-Christmas.jpg) and this is the  
> [pocket knife](https://www.bladehq.com/imgs/shop-by-brand/coast-flashlights/coast-19358-dx350-double-lock-black-serr-thumb.jpg) that Anti gave to Jack ♥  
> 

Anti takes them to the bedroom and Jack lies down on top of him, still feeling the man’s soft cock inside him. The Irishman sighs and they rest their foreheads against each other’s, noses touching. The hitman caresses his back and the boy shudders, holding back a sob. It’s overwhelming to have him like this and Jack’s scared that he‘ll leave again. The brown-haired man doesn’t think he’ll survive for too long if this happens once more. It won’t end so well. His heart can’t take it. He rubs his thumbs on Anti’s cheeks, brushing tears away, and they lock their gaze. Green meeting blue. The corner of the man’s eyes are red and Jack touches him there, feeling the scar below. Anti plays with the pendant around the boy’s neck.

 

“Who did this?” the Irishman whispers, voice hoarse, and Anti purses his lips.

 

“Felix,” he answers.

 

Jack grimaces and thinks of how painful it must have felt, eye closed and stinging. Anti tells him not to cry and the Irishman huffs, shaking his head. It’s weird, going back to these aggressive emotions so easily. It’s compelling. Possessive. Jack wishes this could last. He wants it to be just the two of them, in a bedroom, loving each other without fear. Love. The brown-haired man feels a pang in his heart and he shuffles, hearing Anti gasp because of the movement. The hitman feels Jack’s lips with his fingers, pulling them and humming. He murmurs something about no one touching his boy, that no one can have him in this way. No one can see him like this. Just Anti. Jack remembers that guy from work and Dark, flushing and lowering his eyes. The hitman knits his eyebrows.

 

“Did someone touch you?” he asks and Jack stays quiet. Anti growls. “Answer me!”

 

“Yes!” the Irishman bursts the word and then mumbles, feeling anxious and blushing all over. “I-It was just a kiss. S-Someone from work. I turned him down, it was nothing.”

 

He doesn’t dare to mention Dark, keeping that as a secret between him and Jack. He really doesn’t want to know what Anti would do if he knew about the raven-haired man. They fight enough already, he doesn’t want them to kill each other. Jack swallows and says nothing more. Anti flips them around until he’s on top of Jack, glaring down at him. The Irishman gasps and the man pulls his arms up, trapping the boy with his hands.

 

“Tell me you’re mine.”

 

“Yeah, I’m yours…” Jack breathes and he feels Anti’s cock harden. “It’s you. Only you.”

 

The green-haired man groans and bites the Irishman’s lip, breaking his skin and making him bleed. Jack moans and opens his mouth for a harsh kiss, tasting Anti. He spreads his legs and feels the man’s erection growing inside him, sighing into their mouths. They move again and Anti jerks him off while still holding the boy’s arms up. Jack lets out whining sounds and his breathing picks up again, sharper and cut off by moans. Anti thrusts when they’re fully hard and their skin smacks, hitman devouring his mouth until it’s hard to breathe. The bed frame hits against the wall and Jack cries out, asshole sensitive from before. He sobs and his vision swims, glassy eyes staring at the man. Anti growls and buries himself deeper inside the Irishman, making him scream. The brown-haired man curls his toes and his mouth falls open, heart beating frantically.

 

“I won’t stop until you pass out,” Anti groans with a strained voice.

 

Jack wails and he knows that Anti will have what he wants soon enough. The Irishman’s trembling and sobbing beneath the man, not being able to do anything but stay still while Anti fucks him deep. The room smells of sex and they pant, hands around his wrists tightening and nails digging in his skin. Jack’s eyes roll back, full erection brushing between them, and he sees white. The hitman moans when Jack comes with a silent scream, asshole clenching around his cock, and he unloads inside the boy. The brown-haired man convulses, waves of pleasure hitting him. Jack tries sucking in air before his vision turns black and his body goes slack.

 

“Jack,” Anti calls him. “Jack?”

 

The Irishman knits his eyebrows.

 

“Mm…” he murmurs under his breath. “F-Fuck you…”

 

Anti huffs with a smile and pulls himself out, making Jack shudder. The Irishman groans and blinks, seeing the man above him. He feels like jello, arms and legs heavy, and Anti leans down to lick his lips. Jack sighs and lets the man slide his split tongue into his mouth, breathing through his nose. Everything feels slow and his heart clenches when they break the kiss, wet lips making a sound. Jack’s face falls, coming down from his ecstasy, and he hopes that this is not a dream. That he’ll not wake up in an empty bed, cold and still torn. Anti senses the shift in the air and he purses his lips, letting go of Jack’s wrists and touching his cheeks instead. Their faces are flushed and the boy licks his own lips, feeling the cut there. He looks away, waiting for the inevitable to come.

 

“You think I’m leaving,” Anti says.

 

“Aren’t you?” Jack scowls. “You can’t stay here for too long or Felix will find out. You have to.”

 

“Jack.” He caresses the boy’s cheek, turning his face until they’re looking at each other. “Leaving you was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done. I still dream of you crying and screaming for me to come back. Over and over.” He shakes his head. “I’m taking you with me.”

 

“What?”

 

“I need a few days to sort things but you’re coming with me. We’ll leave this place and I promise I’ll give you anything you want.”

 

“What are you talking about? Go where?!” the Irishman frowns. Anti explains that there’s someone that can make false documents for them and that he’s been getting in contact with people from Italy, that they can work along with the hitman. “Italy?! Anti, listen to yourself! I c-can’t afford going _anywhere_ , let alone fucking Italy! There’s no way.” The green-haired man sends him a look and Jack thinks about it. “Holy fuck, _you_ can afford that.”

 

“Being a hitman has its perks.” he huffs.

 

“Holy fuck,” Jack repeats.

 

The brown-haired man takes a moment to process the idea of leaving this country and running away with Anti, with the person who kidnapped him, and putting all of this behind. Starting again. It’s tempting. Scary, but tempting. Jack rubs his temple, suddenly feeling a huge weight on his shoulders and a headache coming. God. The fact that Anti can afford doing all of that is also insane. The prices over certain people’s head certainly must be fucking high. But also, Italy? Fake identities? Shit. Jack doesn’t know any Italian and suddenly this feels so surreal, so odd. Not to mention how scary it is if they ever get caught. The Irishman has a million of thoughts crossing his mind and his emotions are so confused. Anti rubs his knuckles on Jack’s cheek, telling him to calm down and that he does this for a living. The brown-haired man sighs and shakes his head. They’re a fucking mess.

 

“You’re insane...” he murmurs.

 

“You like that about me,” Anti grins.

 

The hitman’s hand goes to feel the boy’s scar next to his stomach and Jack swallows, looking away. It’s slightly sore from all this and he’ll have to take a painkiller. Anti moves down until his face is hovering over the marred skin and the hitman kisses him there. The Irishman shivers and caresses Anti’s hair, fingers tangling around green locks. He plants small kisses over and over, making the boy squirm underneath him. Anti licks his skin, tasting Jack’s cum, and he hums. The brown-haired man feels that pang in his heart again. When did he start feeling too much over this man anyway? Even though it’s so wrong, it feels so good. Jack moans softly when Anti goes up again, leaving a trail of kisses behind, and the hitman pinches his sides. He says that he wants Jack to eat more and the Irishman flushes, knowing that he lost too much weight. He nods and murmurs something about ordering some. Anti calls him a good boy and goes to the bathroom. He hears the green-haired man complaining once again about the lack of mirrors and Jack purses his lips.

 

Anti left the door open so the Irishman can see his back in the bathroom, cleaning himself and washing his face. Jack puts a hand on his forehead and thinks about all of this. Running away. He did wish for that at one point but it seemed so stupid, so impossible. Anti’s willing to leave his own world and start again only because of Jack. Sometimes he thinks that it’d have been better if he was dead and none of this confusion would have happened. But then, Jack wouldn’t know how it feels to be with Anti. They wouldn’t have this… whatever this thing between them is. Or, if the hitman hadn’t found him, the brown-haired man would continue with his ordinary life. Unaware. Naive. Not knowing how it feels like to be full and warm. To be hurt but also cared for.

 

Jack watches Anti come back with a damp cloth, moving the boy around to clean him. The hitman touches his asshole, sliding his fingers in and making Jack gasp. It’s so intimate. It’s something he never thought he’d feel with this man. Anti soothes him with his thumb rubbing small circles on his back and the Irishman closes his eyes, not wanting to cry. His heart flutters and the green-haired man tugs on his arms, calling him back. He pulls his fingers out and Jack still keeps his eyes shut, knowing that a few tears escaped. Anti sighs, touching his cheek, and the Irishman wraps his hand around the man’s wrist, leaning closer. Jack looks up, giving in, and he sees Anti with a serene expression. The Irishman touches the scratches on the man’s cheek, feeling what he did there, and he purses his lips.

 

“I’m sorry about that…” Jack murmurs and Anti shakes his head, glaring.

 

“Goddamnit…” he says, upset with himself. “I really don’t deserve you, Jack.”

 

The brown-haired man blinks, thinking for a moment, and he caresses Anti’s cheek as well. “You don’t...” he replies. “But I think it’s too late for that now.”

 

They get up from bed after a while and Jack makes him wear the long coat, wanting his scent in the garment. The Irishman wears Anti’s black shirt and boxer briefs, and he orders Thai food. He plugs the cell phone Dark gave him in to charge and thinks about answering him soon, wanting to apologize for being such a dick. The man saved his life, after all. When the food arrives, Anti stays next to the doorway where only Jack can see, and he opens the door. The delivery guy raises an eyebrow at the brown-haired man, probably noticing his messy state. Jack’s hair is disheveled and there’s a cut on his bottom lip with dry blood. It looks like he got into a fight but the hickeys all over his body tells something else. Anti smirks from his hiding place. Jack flushes and quickly pays for the food, closing the door and glaring at the man.

 

Jack looks over at the broken table and huffs, going back to the bedroom so they can eat. Anti follows him, tugging on his shirt and hugging Jack from behind. The hitman rests his back against the bed frame and the boy places himself between the man’s legs, eating slowly. Anti keeps touching him lightly, hands always moving to feel him. Jack gasps and almost drops the take-out when Anti’s hands grab his inner thighs. The Irishman shoves him with his elbow, saying it’s difficult to eat with the man doing these things. Anti hums and wraps his arms around the boy’s waist, under the shirt. Jack shares his food with him and they’re quiet, both just taking it all in and appreciating this moment.

 

“Did you really mean it?” the brown-haired man asks after they are done and he’s just resting against Anti’s chest, feeling his ribs move up and down. “Do you really want to run away?” _With me_ remains unsaid.

 

“I meant it,” Anti whispers.

 

“And you will really give me anything I want?”

 

The hitman tightens his hold around the boy and he looks down at Jack through his eyelashes. “Anything.”

 

The Irishman’s heart swells and he lets out a soft gasp, thinking about how they ended up here. Like this. Anti was nothing more than a kidnapper, a killer, someone to feel disgusted at. Jack never thought he would feel all of this towards the man. It’s breathtaking to look at Anti’s eyes and see fondness there, something warm and enticing. Jack’s so enamoured. He shakes his head and murmurs that Anti is unbelievable. The hitman snorts, a small smile on his face, and the Irishman licks his lips. Anything, he says. The brown-haired man bites his bottom lip, blushing.

 

“I…” he murmurs. “I want to fuck you.”

 

Anti’s lips part and he stops caressing Jack underneath his shirt, blinking at the boy. There’s a brief moment of silence that only makes the Irishman feel more anxious but then the hitman finally nods and Jack’s heart skips a beat. He turns around to kiss Anti, pecking his lips and caressing his chest, slowing removing the long coat. The green-haired man hums and pulls the boy’s shirt up, taking it off and scratching him on the way down. Jack hisses and bites Anti’s bottom lip, sliding his hand under his boxer briefs to wrap his fingers around the man’s soft cock. Anti pulls Jack’s underwear down to his thighs and lifts his hips so the boy can do the same with him, throwing their clothes away. The hitman feels the Irishman’s asscheeks and Jack plants hickeys on Anti’s neck, licking and biting freckled skin. The green-haired man moans softly under his breath and Jack feels his cock harden in his hand.

 

The brown-haired man says that he’ll be right back and tells Anti not to move. The hitman raises an eyebrow but stays in bed when Jack gets up, going to the bathroom. The Irishman holds his cheeks and takes a deep breath before looking for a small bottle of lube. Jack remembers how he fingered himself many times in the loneliness of his room, imagining it was the hitman instead, and he flushes. Anti’s lazily stroking himself when Jack comes back and the Irishman bats his hand away, both of them glaring. The brown-haired man uncaps the bottle to lubricate his fingers and he pulls Anti closer, holding their cocks together. Jack jerks them off and the green-haired man looks down at their erections, panting and huffing with a smile.

 

“On all fours,” Jack tells him and Anti’s smile fades. He growls and they have a mini-glaring competition. “Now.”

 

The green-haired man giggles but does what’s he told and Jack wants to make that laugh turn into a moan. The Irishman touches the man’s hips and spreads more of lube on his fingers, feeling Anti’s asshole. The hitman tenses up beneath him and Jack smirks while fingering him. He moves in and out, stretching the man before inserting a second one. Anti opens his legs further and he moans when Jack curves his fingers. The Irishman’s heart aches, realizing that Anti is letting himself be vulnerable like this for Jack. The boy’s cock twitches at the thought and he abuses more of the man’s asshole, making him shudder and tighten his grip on the sheets. Jack removes his fingers and goes down to lick there, and he hears Anti swear under his breath. The Irishman breathes hard through his nose and his tongue penetrates Anti, sucking him. The green-haired man groans and moves his hips, panting and wanting more.

 

Jack smiles and returns to his position, swallowing and tasting Anti in his mouth. He holds the man’s hips, keeping him still, and he starts pushing the tip of his cock into Anti. They both moan and groan, hearts beating frantically and pupils wide. Jack leans down when he gets inside the hitman and he takes a deep breath, feeling overwhelmed. Anti’s tight and _so_ fucking warm, cock pulsing with want and curving up to the man’s stomach. Anti’s cock is red and swollen, and Jack digs his nails into Anti’s skin before thrusting forward. They shout and the green-haired man half-laughs, half-moans. The Irishman fucks Anti slow, teasing him and listening to the man grunt. Jack quickens his pace a couple of times, slamming into him, and then stops on purpose. Anti’s trembling and he’s breathing hard through his mouth, cock trickling and smearing the sheets. When Jack thrusts hard again only to slow down, the man turns his face towards the boy with a glare.

 

“D-Don’t fucking test me,” he growls and he has glassy eyes, lips red and hair over his forehead.

 

“Oh, I will,” Jack murmurs and gives him another strong thrust that hits the man’s prostate. Anti shivers and his eyes roll back for a moment, but he’s still too quiet. “Moan louder or I’ll stop.”

 

“You little shit, I’ll fuckin-”

 

Anti shouts when Jack moves again, wanting him to stop talking, and the man moans. The Irishman lets out whiny sounds as well, fucking the hitman until they’re a sobbing mess. Anti’s arms give out and he buries his face into the pillow, screaming with every thrust. Jack rests his forehead between the man’s shoulder blades and they wail, skin smacking in the room. Anti takes a deep breath that it’s cut off by a gasp, looking at Jack over his shoulder. The Irishman wraps a hand around Anti’s neck while the other jerks him off, thrusting erractly and feeling the warmth below his stomach. The brown-haired man sobs, losing his pacing, and his heart swells. The hitman moves his arm to touch a side of Jack’s hips, wanting him to thrust harder. The Irishman chokes and curses out loud. Anti’s whole body tenses up underneath him and he comes with a groan, jets of cum hitting his stomach and the sheets. Jack cries out when he feels the man’s asshole clenching and he jizzes inside Anti, reaching climax. Their bodies spasm and the brown-haired man still thrusts a couple of times, unloading himself. Anti shudders.

 

Jack pulls himself out and falls in bed, breathing hard, and the hitman is immediately on top of him. Anti kisses him hard, pulling Jack’s bottom lip until it hurts. They groan and the Irishman caresses his hair. Anti breaks the kiss and pushes strands of hair away from the boy’s face, looking down at him. They catch their breaths and Jack touches the scar on Anti’s right eye again, sighing. The hitman stares at him for a long time, opening his mouth, as if he’s about to say something, but closing it. He swallows and turns around, pulling Jack closer and wrapping his arms around the boy’s waist. The Irishman feels exhausted but, for the first time in ages, it’s in a good way. His eyelids are heavy and he feels so nice right now, with Anti pecking the back of his neck. It’s that same feeling he had on the rooftop and it’s serene.

 

It doesn’t take too long for him to fall asleep, body melting around Anti, and his heart beats slowly.

 

✁ ✂ ✃

 

Jack wakes up with a _Bang_ from his nightmares, jumping out of his skin and immediately turning over to find the bed empty. He pats the cold bed in the middle of the night and he blinks hard, brushing sleep away. The Irishman’s heart races and he looks around, realizing he’s alone in the bedroom. There’s a thin line of anxiety going down to his stomach and he’s suddenly scared that everything was all in his head. Jack looks over at the digital clock and sees it’s almost four in the morning, moon still in the sky. He whimpers, feeling panic taking over, and he gets up from the bed. The Irishman runs to open the door and he starts shaking, walking towards the living room. He lets out a pained sound and puts a hand over his chest when he sees Anti standing with his back towards the boy. The man’s dressed up again and there’s a duffel bag resting on the couch, a couple of weapons in sight. Anti’s typing something on his cell phone and he’s wearing the long coat.

 

“You left the apartment,” Jack whispers and Anti turns his face briefly to look at him, still looking fucked. “Don’t fucking do that to me…”

 

“I had shit to do,” he murmurs, slightly frowning at his cell phone and the artificial light shows his tired eyes and pink lips. “We are kinda running out of time, you know.”

 

“Well, yeah but…” Jack walks closer to him, butt-naked, and he sighs. “Warn me next time. You scared me.”

 

Anti purses his lips and locks the cell phone, finally looking at Jack in the eye. He notices the boy’s naked state and his hand comes to rest on the Irishman’s hip, thumb brushing his skin next to the scar. “I’m not good at this,” he repeats himself. “I had to pick some stuff up from the hotel where I was staying. I was just talking to the guy that will make our ID’s and I’ll need to book plane tickets soon. There’s also the goddamnit passport and visa that PJ will make and I need make sure you’re safe before we g-”

 

“Abel!” Jack calls him by his real name to shut the man up. Anti freezes and the Irishman caresses his cheeks. “It’s okay! Everything’s okay. I know you have a lot of stuff to do but it will be fine. I’m with you, alright?”

 

The hitman takes a deep breath. “Okay,” he whispers and bumps his forehead against Jack’s. “Okay.”

 

He takes off the long coat for Jack, dressing him with it. It smells like the hitman again and the Irishman hums, hugging and soothing his kidnapper. Anti plants a kiss on his forehead and tells him to go back to sleep. That he’ll be here in the morning. That he won’t leave. Jack wants him to come to bed with him, but he doesn’t push it. He just nods and raises his head to kiss him, walking away and leaving Anti in the dark. The brown-haired man takes his own cell phone in hand when he’s in the bedroom, unlocking it to find a few messages from Dark. He finally answers the man, apologizing and saying that Anti is here. The boy doesn’t tell him about their plan yet, not sure if he should tell Dark, and he sighs. Jack lies down and looks up at the ceiling, long coat brushing against his skin. The Irishman tries to stay awake for awhile, listening to the faint sounds of Anti in the apartment but, eventually, he falls asleep.

 

The nightmares are more blurry this time, so Jack wakes up less frightened. He knits his eyebrows, groaning and rubbing his eyes. The Irishman goes to the bathroom to empty his bladder, washing his face and brushing his teeth. He puts on some underwear and walks into the living room, frowning when he sees Anti in the kitchen. Jack passes through the broken table without a care and narrows his eyes. The hitman’s shirtless and he’s in front of the stove, making some food. The scene is oddly domestic and Jack’s stomach does something funny inside, heart swelling. He blinks and sniffs the air.

 

“Did you just make coffee?” he asks. “Are you making _breakfast_?”

 

Anti says nothing and Jack walks closer to see him frying bacon. “I got hungry,” the hitman murmurs and points at a mug on the counter, telling the Irishman to get some coffee.

 

The brown-haired man asks where this food came from because his fridge was practically empty and Anti explains that he stopped by a convenience store last night that’s open twenty-four seven. Jack huffs, trying not to overthink over the fact that his kidnapper is making breakfast for them and that this is extremely home-y. He pours himself some coffee and offers some to Anti. The hitman scrunches up his nose, saying that he doesn’t like that and he prefers tea. Jack takes a sip of his drink before putting down.

 

“I can make you some tea…” he murmurs and opens the cupboard, looking for a package of Earl Grey and being thankful that it’s not expired.

 

Anti stares at him but continues to stay quiet, both of them moving in the kitchen. After a while, there’s a small pile of bacon and eggs next to a mug of coffee and tea. They eat leaning against the counter, not talking and just enjoying this small peace. Jack looks at the hickeys on Anti’s neck and chest, knowing he did that, and he holds back a smile. The green-haired man shoves him lightly with his elbow, catching him watching. Jack giggles and his heart flips inside his ribcage, eyes shining. Anti huffs, taking a sip of his tea before moving closer to the boy. He presses Jack against the counter and plants soft kisses on the Irishman’s neck, so light that it makes Jack giggle more and squirm. Anti goes up to his mouth, capturing their lips into a sweet kiss. The Irishman’s hands go up to caresses the man’s hair while Anti’s thumb brushes over his scar. Jack feels so strongly towards him, his chest hurts. He sighs into their mouths and when they break the kiss, he looks at the hitman through his eyelashes. Heart aching.

 

“I’m…” he barely whispers, clenching his hands. “I lo-”

 

Anti’s cell phone buzzes and the green-haired man blinks a couple of times before letting go of the boy, going to pick it up. Jack’s left alone in the kitchen and he tries to keep his heart still, dragging a hand over his face. He hears Anti speaking on the phone, the name PJ falling from his lips again and Jack realizes it’s the guy that’s supposed to help them. The hitman’s not arguing, which is already good enough, and Jack sighs. He’s being stupid. He’ll ruin everything if he tries that again. The brown-haired man finishes his coffee before leaving the kitchen, seeing Anti ending the call. He walks to the duffel bag, taking a laptop in his hands and sitting on the couch. Jack watches Anti book plane tickets and he touches the pendant around his neck, thinking that this will actually fucking happen. That he will leave with Anti. Someone that hurt him so many times but also cares about the boy. Jack feels anxious.

 

“What did he say?” he asks and Anti continues to type something on the laptop, contacting people Jack can’t even imagine.

 

“It’s done but I’ll have to pick it up from him before we go.”

 

“When?”

 

“Now,” Anti says and gets up to dress himself.

 

Jack gasps, suddenly worried that he will be leaving and that weird domestic moment is gone. Reality comes back and his joy is replaced with dread. The hitman hastily puts on his hoodie and jacket. The Irishman watches him place a knife around his ankle, hidden in the high boot. He takes a gun as well, putting behind his back, and Jack sees the pistol he used in the duffel bag. He purses his lips. Anti walks to him, thumb brushing on the boy’s cheek, and he kisses him again. Jack clings, holding the man’s arm to keep him there and wanting the kiss to last. The hitman sucks on his bottom lip before pulling away and the Irishman grimaces.

 

“If I don’t come back in one hour, call Dark,” he murmurs with a glare. “He’ll take you away from here. He knows what to do.”

 

The brown-haired man swallows and nods, realizing that the raven-haired man already knows about their plan. He tightens his hold on Anti’s shirt but the man moves away, opening the door. Jack’s heart clenches.

 

“W-Wait, Anti,” he calls out and the man looks at him from over his shoulder. Jack breathes through his mouth, heart skipping a beat. “I… Be careful, will you? You’re terrible at this.”

 

The hitman huffs and walks away, closing the door and leaving Jack behind.

 

 

 

 


	13. Chapter 13

The Irishman lets out a shaky breath and rubs the back of his neck, looking around the apartment. He figures he should probably pack some stuff up, though he doesn’t have much and he’s not attached to anything in particular. Except for Anti’s long coat and books. Jack walks into the bathroom to take a quick shower, cleaning himself and dressing in proper clothes. He puts on a black long-sleeved shirt with a turtleneck that hides the marks on his skin. Jack wears dark jeans and he takes the pocket knife in his hands, placing it behind his back. He adds the long coat and looks for a backpack in his closet, putting the books and sketchbook inside. He’s slightly panicked and anxious, pacing around the apartment and checking if everything is okay. Jack’s eyes find that gun again in the duffel bag and he purses his lips, not sure if he should take it for safety. The brown-haired man shakes his head and just makes a mental note that he can do that later if he wants.

 

Jack sits on the couch, jiggling his leg and biting on his nails, time passing slowly. The backpack next to him is full of silly things that he would like to keep and he’s ready to go the moment Anti walks into the apartment again. They will get out of this place and start over. Felix won’t be there to hurt them and Anti will have Jack the way he wants. The Irishman will wait for him every time he leaves for a mission, knowing the man will always take a little piece of his heart. Jack fidgets with the necklace and sighs in frustration, wanting Anti to come back. Everything is too quiet and it’s maddening, really. Jack checks his cell phone, seeing the digital clock change every minute, and he looks at the door.

 

Thirty minutes pass.

 

He paces back and forth when it turns into a hour. Jack grabs his hair with both hands, exhaling hard through his mouth and telling himself to wait a little more. Maybe he’s just a bit late. Maybe he’s just downstairs, in front of the apartment and on his way. Jack groans when twenty minutes pass and there’s no sign of Anti anywhere. He swears out loud and he really doesn’t want to leave without him. The Irishman unlocks the cell phone and calls Dark, trembling hands and shaky breathing. He presses his fingers between his eyes, listening to the beeps calling for the man. When Dark finally picks it up, Jack lets out a pained sound and he stumbles on his words, anxiety getting the best of him.

 

“H-He’s not h-here, Dark!” Jack says. “A-Anti’s been gone for over a hour now and there’s no sign of him. He t-told me to c-call you but I don’t w-”

 

 _“Kid, breathe! Do you know where he went?”_ Dark’s soothing voice reaches his ear.

 

“N-Not exactly, because the asshole doesn’t explain a-anything!”

 

 _“Alright, calm down,”_ the man sighs. “ _He does that to protect you.”_

 

“Well, it’s a stupid way to protect me!” Jack groans. “Dark, I don’t know. I still want to wait a little more but I think h-”

 

There’s a knock on the door. The Irishman shuts his mouth and he hears the raven-haired man faintly talking to him on the phone. Jack tells him to wait for a second and he slowly approaches the door, looking through the peephole. Jack holds back a gasp when he sees Anti, but there’s a weird feeling in his heart. The hitman’s scowling down at the floor and he looks to the side briefly. The Irishman trembles and he rushes to the hallway as quiet as he can, putting the phone back against his ear.

 

“Dark,” he harshly whispers. “Anti’s at the door but… t-there’s something wrong…”

 

 _“I’ll be there as fast as I can,”_ the man replies without hesitation and ends the call.

 

Jack jumps out of skin when there’s another knock and he puts the cell phone in his pocket, taking the pistol from the duffel bag, inserting a magazine and placing it behind his back along with the knife. Jack holds back a whimper, knowing he has to be strong for whatever this might be. The brown-haired man takes a deep breath, anxiety crawling under his skin, and he opens the door to see Anti pursing his lips. Before he can do anything, there are men showing up from the corners and getting inside. They push Anti, whose hands are tied-up on his back and Jack steps away. The Irishman quickly takes the gun from behind his back, ready to shoot, but one of them twists the boy’s arm in a fast motion. The gun falls on the ground and he screams, arm bending over his back and his face is pressed against a wall. They get into the apartment, closing the door, and Jack groans. He squirms underneath the stranger, wanting to be free, and there’s shuffling in the background.

 

He hears Anti shouting at the men, threatening them for hurting Jack, but then there’s a sharp impact and it’s quiet. The guy that’s holding Jack brings him in front of Anti, kicking his leg to kneel on the floor. The brown-haired man growls and tries moving, but screams when his arm is twisted again. Jack hisses and looks at the hitman, realizing one of the guys hit his temple with a gun to shut him up. Anti shakes his head and groans under his breath, blinking and trying to focus. They’re in the same position and the Irishman grimaces, heart racing and shaky breathing. There’s another stranger behind Anti, keeping him in place as well, and Jack looks to the side to see the third man sighing. He’s tall and clearly strong, wearing a suit that reminds him of Dark. The intruder has well-defined jaw and he fixes his brown hair, frowning. The Irishman scowls, wanting to get the knife from his back and cut all of them open. The sudden rage boils under his skin and he bares his teeth, saying just that. They chuckle and Anti looks at him through half-lidded eyes, still dizzy.

 

“You,” the man points at Anti. “You are a disgrace! Felix is too fond of you to punish you properly! It’s ridiculous! And now, you fucking disobey him again! He’s a fool!”

 

“Shut the fuck up, Smiley,” Anti sighs and the man’s nostrils flare, getting closer to point a gun to the hitman’s head.

 

“Don’t!” Jack screams, body shaking. “S-Stop! The fuck is wrong with you?!”

 

“With _me?_ What about all of you?!” Smiley scoffs, but puts the gun down. “This fucker killed Blank! And Pit! Because of you! And Felix does nothing about it!” the man grimaces. “You’re just a fucking double, someone that wasn’t supposed to live. I don’t know what the fuck Anti sees in you. This is _disgusting._ ”

 

Jack looks back at his hitman and he swallows. They probably hurt Anti somewhere else before coming here, because he’s not quite alert. The green-haired man almost falls from leaning forward too much and he’s wincing. The Irishman holds back a whimper and he wants to soothe him, to touch him. It hurts. The men behind them tighten their holds and they both hiss in pain. This guy - Smiley - is definitely a hitman that’s tired of all this bullshit and wants everything to be over. Fuck. Jack’s not sure if he should be relieved that it’s not Felix. All he knows is that he has to buy some time until Dark gets here. The intruder is furious that Anti got involved with his double so intimately and it seems he was very close to those who died. The other men are quiet and only following Smiley’s orders. Jack knits his eyebrows and locks his gaze with Anti’s. He takes a deep breath.

 

“You’re right,” Jack whispers, speaking through his teeth. “It is fucking disgusting. He is an idiot for falling for me.” He looks at Smiley, seeing he caught the man’s attention. “Everytime he fucked me, I felt like throwing up. I’ve been just playing along but I guess there’s no point now… He’s delusional.”

 

The green-haired man looks hurt, knitting his eyebrows and lips parting. Jack forces himself to look away and Smiley’s mouth twitches, a weird grin showing on his face. He faces Anti and starts calling him names, talking about how fucked up and foolish the hitman is for believing the boy. The men grunts, agreeing with Smiley, and Jack huffs. The man with the green eyes lets his head fall, looking at the floor, but the intruder bends down to hold his face harshly. The Irishman tries not to flinch when he sees nails digging into Anti’s cheek and the hitman grimaces, trying to turn his face away but failing. Smiley’s mouth twitches again.

 

“Is it true? What your boy said… Have you fallen for him? Have you really lost your fucking mind like I think you did?” the man sneers. “Do you love him?” Anti’s quiet for a long time and he glares down, but Smiley shakes him hard. “Answer me or I will put a bullet in his head!”

 

“Yes!” Anti shouts, voice shaking in anger. He’s scowling and it hurts so much to see him this way. “Yes, I do, alright?” he whispers.

 

Jack’s breath gets caught in his throat, seeing one tear fall from the man’s eyes, and he swallows. Of all the opportunities he could have said this, that certainly wasn’t a good time. God fucking damnit! The brown-haired man looks away in repulsion and hating himself for having to act like this. Smiley mocks Anti and he sends a look towards the guy behind the hitman. The man smiles and kicks Anti’s ribs until he falls completely on the floor. Jack holds back tears, watching him being beaten, boots hitting his stomach. The green-haired man lets out painful sounds and the Irishman feels anguish. They’re treating him like nothing. They lost their respect completely after knowing what he did. The hitman gasps for air and he drools on the floor, trying in vain to get away. Jack’s arms are sore behind his back and he doesn’t dare to move, wanting to convince them that he doesn’t care. His heart aches and his throat is closing. Shit. _Shit._

 

Smiley’s mouth twitches like a nervous tic and Jack’s arm is pulled up again in an unnatural movement, making him scream. He gasps when there’s something being shoved into his mouth and he gags, looking down to see the barrel of a gun from the man behind him. Jack chokes, feeling the horrible metallic taste on his tongue and it’s hard to swallow. His heart hurts against his ribcage and he hyperventilates, losing the little bit of composure he had left. Anti makes an inhuman sound and they lock their gaze, both with tears in their eyes. Smiley says that he will shoot and he wants the hitman to watch just like Felix wanted. Jack’s scream is muffled by the gun in his mouth and he feels saliva running down his chin. He sobs and he doesn’t take his eyes away from Anti, too scared. The green-haired man is curled up on the floor, sore from pain, and he wails weakly. The man slowly pushes his finger on the trigger and the Irishman lets his tears fall. There’s a small impact above him that makes him frown and then, the gun falls from his mouth. Jack’s arms are released and he hears a thud, body falling behind him. He sobs and looks at the door to see Dark pointing a pistol with a silencer on.

 

Everyone freezes for a second and Jack acts as fast as he can, taking the knife from behind his back and throwing at the other guy. It hits his throat and the man chokes, hands going to his neck. Blood streams down his body and he tries to cover the wound awkwardly. Smiley raises his gun, finally recovering from the sudden intrusion, and Jack gasps. Dark shoots the man’s hand, making him drop the gun and scream. The Irishman sees red and he runs towards the guy that hurt Anti, bringing him down and punching his face. He takes the knife from the man’s throat and blood splatters, making him choke again. Jack ignores him and cuts the rope around Anti’s hands, pulling him closer. The hitman moans in pain and he clings to Jack’s arms, head resting on the boy’s chest. Dark’s keeping the gun pointed at Smiley, who has taken a few steps back and he’s glaring at the raven-haired man. It’s quiet again and Jack presses himself against a wall, holding Anti and breathing hard.

 

“Tyler,” Dark calls Smiley by his real name. “It’s been awhile.”

 

“Dark, you son of a bitch,” he groans, holding his injured hand. “I thought you had retired. Don’t tell me you’re involved with these filthy people.”

 

The raven-haired man looks at them, and then back at Tyler, shrugging. “I don’t pick sides, kiddo. I just do what I feel like it.”

 

Jack tightens his hold around Anti and he watches them talk like they’re old friends. The Irishman’s not sure if he should move, if he should do anything at all. The hitman’s hands are gripping his shirt, knuckles white, and Jack brushes his lips lightly on his forehead to soothe him. Tyler calls them impure, saying they are a sin and vulgar. Dark sighs in annoyance and he stares at Jack, telling him to go. The brown-haired man lets out a shaky breath, knitting his eyebrows at the tan man.

 

“W-What? W-What about y-you?” he stutters, voice cracking.

 

“Darling, don’t hurt me like that. Think better of me,” Dark winks. “I’ll just have a little chat with my friend.”

 

The Irishman slowly stands up, pulling Anti and supporting him. Tyler groans and moves forward. Dark tells him to sit down and his tone of voice sends shivers down Jack’s spine. The intruder freezes and glares but does what he’s told, sighing and crossing his legs while holding his bloody hand. The brown-haired man looks at his backpack and the raven-haired man takes it, throwing it at Jack. He grabs it and they exchange a look. They would be fucking dead if it wasn’t for Dark. The Irishman lets Anti support himself against the wall for a moment and he quickly goes to the tan man, face full of emotions. Jack leans in to kiss his cheek and Dark grins, not losing his stance.

 

“T-Thank you…” Jack murmurs.

 

“Just make sure to text me, alright? I’ll love to visit you someday, dear.”

 

The brown-haired man gives him a weak smile and turns around, putting Anti’s arm around his shoulders. The hitman sends Dark a short nod and the raven-haired man winks again, looking relaxed and in control. Jack turns his back to his apartment, door being shut, and they walk into the hallway, Anti panting next to him. They quicken their pace, still anxious and worried about what happened and Jack presses the elevator button several times, looking back at the door and then at the man. The green-haired man is staring at the floor, looking exhausted, and the Irishman whimpers. When they get inside the elevator, Jack rests his back against the metal door.

 

“Please, tell me you have a fucking car or something,” Jack says.

 

Anti huffs but nods, fumbling with his hand in his jacket until he takes a set of car keys from it. The Irishman grabs it without thinking twice and the hitman snorts. They reach the underground garage and Jack presses the car alarm on the key fob, finding it nearby and quickening his pace. Anti groans and the Irishman places him in the passenger seat before getting inside to drive. He’s hyper-focused on everything and all he wants to do now is get the fuck out of there. Jack starts the car, turning the key in the ignition. The wheels squeal and leave marks on the ground, rubber burning behind them. The brown-haired man takes deep breaths, pushing his hair away from his face and looking over at Anti every now and then. His heart is fucking racing and he swallows, trying to calm down. The hitman hisses, moving to raise his shirt up and seeing the sore skin. Jack grimaces, catching a glimpse of it and he tightens his hands around the steering wheel.

 

“A-Are you okay?” Jack asks. “Are you badly hurt? Do I have to stop somewhere? I-I don’t even know where I’m going, I’m just… _going!_ ”

 

“Jack.”

 

“I d-don’t think we can go to the airport right now. There m-must be some place we can stop by and j-just… I d-don’t know! I don’t know!”

 

“Jack!” Anti shouts and hits the panel with his fists. “Stop the fucking car!” The brown-haired man curses out loud but finds a place to park after a few turns and the hitman glares at the panel, clenching his hands while Jack drags a hand over his face. It’s quiet for a full minute and the Irishman breathes slowly through his nose. In and out. In and out. “You were not supposed to be there by that time.”

 

The Irishman purses his lips. “I was not going to leave you.”

 

“That’s not the point!” Anti groans like he wants to shout but then he sighs, covering his face with his hands. “You almost died, Jack. I almost lost you. Twice.”

 

It’s silent again, both taking a deep breath and looking forward. Jack’s exhausted, adrenaline fading and making his limbs feel heavy. He asks again if Anti’s hurt but the hitman shakes his head, saying he will be fine. The documents are inside a duffel bag he put in the trunk and the flight is in two hours. That gives them some time to calm their minds and Jack swallows, still tasting the gun that was in his mouth. He grimaces and they stare at each other, both wanting to recover. Anti’s long lashes bat on freckled skin and his green eyes are locked on Jack’s. He’s hugging himself with one arm, ribs sore, and the Irishman extends a hand towards him. Jack touches his face, thumb caressing his cheek, and Anti shuts his eyes for a moment. The brown-haired man smiles, finding him endearing, and the hitman rests on the passenger seat. He licks his lips and opens his eyes.

 

“You were lying, weren’t you?” he whispers. “What you said before, about me.”

 

“Of course I was lying,” Jack sighs.

 

Anti blinks and his lips part in deep thought. “I’m not good for you.” The boy shrugs, knowing that already but it’s too late for that now. “After everything that I’ve caused you…?”

 

“Isn’t that why we are leaving?” Jack asks. “To start again? To forgive?”

 

The hitman takes a deep breath and stares at the boy for a moment, scanning him up and down before leaning forward. The Irishman makes the same motion and their foreheads touch, noses brushing. The hitman kisses the boy and they sigh into each other’s mouths, content to feel one another. Jack feels a pang in his heart, emotions too intense and overwhelming. Anti pecks his lips before pulling away just enough to look at him. They breathe and the green-haired man touches Jack’s hair, caressing him. It’s finally quiet between them and Anti murmurs for him to drive again. The Irishman nods and starts the car calmly this time, inhaling and putting on his seatbelt. It’s after an hour that they arrive at the airport and Anti steps out of the car with a weak groan, opening the trunk to take out the duffel bag. He checks if the documents are still there and if everything is okay, while Jack looks around. It’s a bit anxious to be close to so many people. The brown-haired man is not used to that anymore.

 

Jack makes Anti buy painkillers in a drugstore from the airport and he takes the man to the bathroom. The Irishman waits for him to take the pill and he looks around them, making sure that no one is there. He takes Anti to the bathroom stall and closes it, wanting to check if he’s hurt somewhere else. The green-haired man huffs but removes his jacket and hoodie, letting the boy touch him. Jack sighs and purses his lips, looking at the bruises on his chest and abdomen. Anti tells him that it’s fine and that he’s been through worse, making the boy shake his head. They’re whispering so no one will notice and they can’t stay too close to one another in public. The hitman holds Jack’s face and kisses him again, enjoying the opportunity that they are hidden. The Irishman sucks on his bottom lip and Anti’s split tongue enters his mouth to deepen the kiss. It hits Jack that he’s making out with someone that kidnapped him, in a bathroom stall, before they runaway. He pulls away to huff with a smile and Anti raises an eyebrow. The brown-haired man brushes it off and tells the hitman to put on his clothes again.

 

“That’s a first,” Anti whispers and Jack snorts.

 

They wash their faces, relieved to refresh themselves for a bit, and Jack asks to see the documents. Anti shows him and the Irishman knits his eyebrows. “Abél and Seán Ó Dubháin?” he reads their names out loud. “Are we brothers? And they just added an accent in our name, that’s not very smart.”

 

“It was last minute, alright? PJ thinks he’s funny,” Anti murmurs. “And we’ll only pretend to be brothers in public. Nothing more.”

 

Jack sighs and drags a hand over his face. It does makes sense that they’ll need to pretend to be twins, being doppelgangers and all, but that’s certainly a bit uncomfortable. The Irishman remembers how that man called them impure and how disgusting this is. Jack swallows, knowing it’s fucked up. Anti scowls and growls under his breath, telling the boy to stop overthinking and that this is for the best. Jack nods and they both carry their documents on the way out. The hitman stays close and alert, still worried that someone might be watching. The brown-haired man does the same and Anti tells him that they’ll be staying in a hotel until they can find a proper place to live. Jack receives a text from Dark, saying that everything is fine and that he took care of that mess. The Irishman smiles and replies to him, thanking the man. Anti questions the kiss but Jack thinks that now it’s not the time for jealousy, so the hitman ignores it.

 

His heart skips a beat when it’s time to go.

 

Jack stops in his tracks to look at Anti’s back, hands in his pockets. This is it. The brown-haired man takes a deep breath and wonders how they got here. Anti found him and wanting to keep him no matter what. He sees something pure in the boy, something warm and unique. The green-haired man turns to look at him, frowning and asking what’s wrong. Jack shakes his head and his heart aches, taking it all in. He’s fallen so hard for this man, despite all this pain. The Irishman felt so scared when he first saw Anti, fearing for his life. Now, he would do anything to keep him close. They almost lost each other and that pain was more than enough already. There’s this pull between them and it’s violent. Sharp. Raw. It tears him apart in a delicious and twisted way. Jack feels so much it gets hard to breathe, chest swelling and throat closing. Anti steps forward, wanting to touch the boy but keeping his hands to himself. The brown-haired man looks at his tired green eyes and sees that affection in them, calling for the boy. It’s mesmerizing, like a drug that Jack can’t get enough of. Captivating. Jack huffs, a small grin showing on his face, and he tells Anti that he’s unbelievable. That Anti’s the worst and the best thing that’s ever happened to him. The green-haired man listens to him and huffs as well.

 

“Are you ready to go?” he murmurs after Jack letting all his thoughts out.

 

The Irishman clenches his hands and the corners of his eyes burn with tears. His heart flutters and he sees himself in Anti, a cracked mirror. A distorted reflection that shows how flawed they are and yet so beautiful.

 

“Yeah,” he whispers. “I am.”

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! The next one is going to be the Epilogue, so this chapter is basically the end. I'll leave my final words in the last one, but I just wanted to say that this has been a blast and I'm so happy everyone seems to be having fun too. I'll also leave links in the Epilogue. Thank you very very much and I'll see you in the last chapter! ♥ Also, have this "ending credit" [song.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VpXbbLv-ogc)  
> 


	14. Chapter 14

EPILOGUE - 6 MONTHS LATER

  


Jack moans.

 

He’s sitting on top of the hitman, hands on his chest, and the Irishman lets his mouth fall open when he moves again. Anti gasps and tries to touch his boy, but the ropes around his wrists and ankles don’t let him. Jack smiles, content that he tied the man in bed, and he moves his hips up until he feels the tip of Anti’s cock. The brown-haired man slams down and rides the hitman with harsh movements, skin slapping in the large room, and they pant heavily. Anti looks up at Jack through glassy eyes, damp green hair sticking on his forehead, and the boy thrusts harder. He supports himself on Anti’s chest, hands pressing down, and he mewls. Jack knits his eyebrows, feeling the heat below his stomach, and his cock pulses while leaking precum. Anti squirms underneath him, still wanting to touch the boy somehow but in vain. The necklace keeps hitting his chest due to the fast movements and the Irishman’s thighs are trembling. He’s covered in hickeys, bruises kissing his body. There are scratches on his back and his asscheeks are red from the hitman slapping them before he was at Jack’s mercy. Anti mumbles something between their moans but Jack doesn’t catch it.

 

“W-What?” he pants.

 

“Y-” Anti breathes again, licking his lips. “Y-You’re incredible...”

 

Jack laughs and moans, throwing his head back when Anti comes first. The man arches his back and his toes curl. The boy wails and fucks himself through the hitman’s orgasm until he finds his own, bodies spasming and jets of cum smearing their stomachs. Jack takes deep breaths and he chuckles, feeling warm and full. He leans down to kiss Anti, the man sighing underneath him, and Jack caresses his hair before slowly releasing his hands from the ropes. Anti hisses, wrists sore and red, and he grabs the boy’s hair with strength to deepen the kiss. They make-out while the man’s hands go down to Jack’s waist, feeling him now. The brown-haired man pecks his face over and over, murmuring that he missed him. Anti’s been away for almost a week due to a mission and Jack was waiting for him as always, ready to welcome him in his arms. He moves away, standing up in wobbly legs to untie Anti’s ankles. The hitman hums, appreciating the view of the boy bending over, and Jack snorts.

 

He takes Anti’s hand, entwining their fingers, and he takes them to the bathroom. They walk through their large room, wooden floor and tall windows with Italian architecture. They pour a soft light through the dark curtains, that reveals Florence in the background. The ceiling is high and painted with classic art, the baroque style marking its presence around the apartment. There’s a tub in the middle of the bathroom and Anti fills it with warm water. They get in and wash themselves in the quiet, Jack resting his back against the man’s chest. He closes his eyes and lets Anti wash his hair, moving him like he wants. The Irishman tugs on the man’s green strands, noticing the black roots, and he says that Anti needs to dye it again. The hitman hums and they finish cleaning themselves, water turning cold. Jack dries his hair and tells Anti to wear something nice, because tonight they’ll have a visit. Anti scowls but dresses in a formal black shirt, long-sleeves rolled up. Jack goes to his own side of the closet, picking up a dark green one and black jeans. Anti closes the buttons for him and steals a kiss.

 

Jack walks into the living room, fancy chairs and couch in front of a fireplace, and he turns on the record player. The Irishman fidgets with a black ring on his finger and listens to instrumental music while he goes to the kitchen, wanting to cook something nice for tonight. Anti says that this is all unnecessary and it’s not a special occasion. Jack ignores him and distracts himself in the open kitchen while the hitman glares somewhere else. He comes over at one point to hug Jack from behind and not actually help. Anti just plants kisses on the back of his neck, making the boy shiver. The Irishman shoves him lightly and points a knife towards the living room, telling Anti to leave his kitchen. The green-haired man smirks, knowing what the boy can do with it now, and lets him be. Jack shakes his head and continues to cook. Anti at least has the decency to set the table just in time when there’s a knock on their door. Jack goes to answer it and a smile shows on his face.

 

“Darling,” the man bows. “Buona sera.”

 

“Dark,” Jack says and lets him in. “Buona sera.”

 

The raven-haired man grins and he’s wearing a black suit, red rose in the left pocket of his coat. He places his fingers on the boy’s chin, looking at him up and down. Dark calls him beautiful and says he’s never been better. When Anti walks into the room, the man takes his hands away from Jack, and the hitman scowls. Jack sends Anti a look, recalling how he asked for the man to be polite, and the green-haired man purses his lips. He extends a hand towards Dark and the raven-haired man raises an eyebrow, accepting the gesture. Anti nods and greets their company. Jack smiles big and he’s content to see Dark again, glad to know that he’s alright and can finally visit them. They guide him to the dining room and the tan man whistles, saying they’re too fancy now. Jack flushes, knowing this apartment is a bit too much and too big for just the two of them. There’s even a second bedroom that they pretend to be Jack’s in case someone comes over, so they won’t suspect anything. Anti saw how happy the boy was when they found this place and they just had to have it.

 

“Someone had fun today,” Dark murmurs with a mischievous smile and points at Jack’s neck, noticing a visible hickey above the collar.

 

The Irishman flushes. “Anti just came back from work.” They eat dinner and drink wine, Anti occasionally sending glares. There’s music playing softly in the background and Jack clears his throat. “Is everything really okay back there? You know, that man… Are they still looking for something?”

 

“Ah, no,” the tan man answers. “Tyler was always short on temper and very stubborn. I’m sure you know what that’s like. Nothing like a threat to shut them up, right?” Jack snorts and Anti purses his lips. “Felix tried to search for you but grew bored of it. I suppose you can live in peace now...”

 

Jack exchanges a look with the hitman, both catching their gaze and saying something without words. Dark asks the boy if he’s liking Florence and the Irishman talks about the places he visited, like Piazza Della Repubblica and Piazzale Michelangelo. It’s extremely beautiful and enticing. Jack’s still learning italian but Anti’s fluent and has been teaching the boy whenever he can. He might find some lowkey job when he gets more used to speaking. For now, the brown-haired man spends his days painting and drawing, sometimes putting them on sale, and still practicing with knives. They’ve started a collection that’s in a hidden room somewhere in the house, along with Anti’s weapons. He likes to walk around city and take care of the house, making it comfortable for when Anti comes home. There’s also a kind neighbor named Marzia that chats with Jack every now and then. It’s certainly a different pace from before but Jack doesn’t deny any of it.

 

At one point, Dark tries to hint at what happened between them to tease Anti but the Irishman just huffs. He cuts him off and says that Anti already knows. When the tan man proposes a threesome, Jack chokes on his food and the hitman raises an eyebrow. Anti denies him with a cold tone and Dark looks disappointed that his fun is over. Jack snorts, listening to them bicker. When they finish dinner, they go to the living room and just chat some more. Anti sits next to him on the couch, resting his cheek on one hand and crossing his legs. Jack feels his other arm wrap around his waist and Dark watches them. It makes the boy flush once more, not used to this sort of display in front of people. They’ve been struggling enough already when they are in public, not touching and being self-conscious of everything they do. Jack fidgets with his hands and Dark’s gaze falls to them, humming and pointing at his fingers with his chin. The Irishman looks down to see his black ring and Anti says nothing, but Dark can see he has the same one on his left hand. The tan man raises an eyebrow.

 

“I-It’s not-,” Jack stutters, somehow wanting to explain himself. “It’s n-not what you’re thinking.” Anti tightens his grip around his waist and the boy takes a deep breath, feeling the man’s thumb caressing his skin under the shirt to soothe him.

 

“What am I thinking, then?” Dark smirks and Jack shakes his head, not wanting to say it out loud.

 

“He belongs to me,” Anti speaks. “I just want him to know he’s mine. That’s all.”

 

The raven-haired man chuckles and takes a sip from his wine. “Aren’t you a selfish little shit?”

 

Jack huffs. “He’s wearing one too for a reason, you know?”

 

“You guys are gonna make me sick,” Dark rolls his eyes.

 

Anti smirks and they enjoy the rest of the night, fireplace lighting the living room. When Jack starts feeling sleepy, the hitman dismisses the tan man as politely as he can and Dark is kind. They say goodbye for now and the Irishman hugs the man when they’re at the door, whispering he’s grateful for what he’s done for them. Anti stays quiet and lets Jack thank Dark the way he wants, nodding in the background. The raven-haired man winks and says they’ll meet again soon. The brown-haired man smiles and watches him go before closing the door. Anti steps closer, caressing the boy’s cheek and Jack feels the ring there. It stirs something in his heart, making him feel alive and safe. The Irishman pulls him for a kiss, murmuring that he’s been nice tonight. The hitman hums into their mouths, grinning and biting Jack’s bottom lip.

 

They go to the bedroom holding hands. They slowly taking off their clothes and Anti takes care of him. The Irishman’s heart swells and they have sex, hands laced above their heads while they breath the same air. Jack’s mouth falls open and they moan with every movement, knuckles turning white and the black rings marking their skin. Anti buries his face in the crook of the Irishman’s neck and he thrusts forward, bending over the boy. Jack gasps and closes his eyes, panting and embracing these feelings. They hug each other and find their climax, moaning and spasming. The green-haired man rubs his cheek against Jack’s, tightening his hold and not letting go of the Irishman. Jack sighs and touches Anti’s face, remembering everything that they’ve been through. He takes a deep breath and they stare at each other, just taking it all in. His heart flutters and he traces the hitman’s scar above his eye with his finger, tongue poking out in deep thought and Anti looking down at his mouth. Jack remembers a rooftop and snow.

 

“Will you please say it?” he barely whispers, eyes seeking for something on Anti’s face. He knows that the hitman understood what he meant, because he opens his mouth to speak and then closes it. “Please… Abel...”

 

The green-haired man swallows and rests his forehead against Jack’s, sighing and closing his eyes for a moment. The Irishman waits and it’s not the first time he does that, wanting the man to speak what he needs to hear. He knows that Anti is not good with these things. They still fight every now and then. Things are not perfect. Jack purses his lips, remembering a big fight filled with awful things that they said to each other. They trashed the place, yelling, and Jack felt like leaving. He kicked Anti out of the apartment and the hitman came back only days after. There were times where Jack wanted to go back for good, times that he had panic attacks for being here. He felt trapped. The Irishman hugs him more, a silent apology, and he shuts his eyes as well. It’s quiet for a long time, both just holding one another in bed, and the moon is high in the sky. Jack thinks that the green-haired man must’ve even fallen asleep by now, breathing so slow. But Anti moves slightly and tells Jack to open his eyes. They lock their gaze and the hitman caresses his cheek with his thumb.

 

“I…” he murmurs. “I love you.”

 

The corners of Jack’s eyes fill with his tears and he beams. Anti never spoke those words out loud, no matter how much the boy asked. Despite both of them knowing how they felt, Jack wanted to hear it. It makes his lungs fill with air and he breathes out, body and mind coming to a rest. Anti blinks, batting his eyelashes, and he watches Jack’s tears stream down from his face. He frowns and says that the Irishman wasn’t supposed to cry, he didn't mean to make him cry. Jack shakes his head, caressing Anti’s hair, and he sobs.

 

“I’m n-not… I’m not crying because I’m _upset,_ ” the boy says and smiles between tears. “I’m _happy,_ you idiot _._ I love you too.”

 

Anti huffs and bumps their noses together before closing the small gap between them. It’s a long kiss that makes them breathe deeper and Jack feels his tears running down to his ears. He pecks Anti’s lips, brushing his tongue there to taste him, and they sigh. The green-haired man moves a bit to be by Jack’s side, arm over his chest and face buried in his hair. Jack covers them with a blanket and their legs tangle, ribs moving up and down. Anti licks his tears away and the boy shivers, telling him to stop that and just go to sleep. The hitman hums and pulls him closer. The Irishman shuts his eyes and a small grin shows on his face, feeling content and warm. Anti’s heartbeat lulls him to sleep.

 

Morning comes and it stirs Jack awake from a foggy dream. It still leaves a bad taste in his mouth but he’s slowly getting better. He’ll get there. One day. The Irishman’s lying down on his stomach, arm hanging off the bed and slightly numb from this position. He groans and rubs his eyes, blinking and adjusting them to the soft light coming through the curtains. There are birds chirping outside and Jack sighs, turning around to see Anti still fast asleep. The hitman’s mouth is ajar, face smushed on the pillow, and he’s snoring. The Irishman holds back a snort and just watches him for a moment. The dark circles under his eyes are less heavy, Jack making sure that he gets to sleep and eat, and they both gained a bit more weight. His cheeks are rounded and soft, ribs not poking out anymore. The brown-haired man slowly gets up from bed, feet touching the wooden floor, and he stretches himself. Jack goes to the bathroom to empty his bladder and brush his teeth, fully waking up. The sun is shining and he opens a window at the end of their bedroom so it won’t bother Anti so much, fresh air flowing.

 

While the hitman’s asleep, Jack dresses in simple clothes and put on some shoes before going out. The city is alive and it’s beautiful. There’s a bakery nearby their apartment and he’s been craving some pastry. The Irishman stutters in italian a bit at first when talking to the cashier but manages to order some cornettos and viennoiseries, baked goods that will please both of them. It’s something not so heavy for the morning and it’ll go well with some coffee. He politely thanks the cashier and pays before walking back home, holding the bag close to his chest. Jack walks up the stairs and unlocks his door, going inside. He places the bag on the kitchen counter and checks if Anti’s still in bed. He’s tossed himself to the other side, arm over his eyes and chest exposed. The boy snorts at his gracious man. He takes the pastries out of the bag, placing them on a plate, and he starts making some coffee. Jack fills a kettle with water for Anti’s tea, humming under his breath. Suddenly, he jumps and curses out loud when there are arms wrapping around his waist and he puts a hand over his chest.

 

“I told you to stop doing that!” he looks over to see Anti’s sleepy face, hair disheveled. He sighs. “Good morning.”

 

“‘Morning…” Anti murmurs and rubs his eyes, looking around to see the pastries and the kettle boiling water. He leans forward to kiss Jack but the boy stops him in his tracks, telling him to brush his teeth first. Anti scowls and his words are slurred from sleep. “I thought you loved me.”

 

Jack ignores him and the green-haired man goes to the bathroom while he finishes making their drinks. They eat quietly and Anti keeps wanting to touch him in some way, knuckles brushing on his skin. It’s one of those days where the man’s not frowning and growling, upset with everything. Their steps mark their presence in the house throughout the day and Anti smokes a cigarette next to a window, looking outside. Jack distracts himself with his laptop in bed. They glance at each other every now and then, catching a small smile that makes the Irishman’s cheeks flush. At one point, that sweet woman - Marzia -  comes by with her baby, wanting to bring them some homemade Italian food. Jack’s more than happy that he gets to talk to her, holding her baby while they talk in the living room. She even teaches him a few words in Italian and it’s nice. Anti stays quiet and leaves the room after a while. The Irishman was uncertain if she should let him hold her baby, but Marzia told him to woman up and that he’s a natural.

 

He laughs nervously when she mentions future wives for both of them and he looks at his left hand, not carrying the black ring at the moment. Jack looks at the baby in his arms, her rosy cheeks and brown eyes. She giggles and makes incoherent sounds, wanting to grab Jack’s hair. It’s a bit shorter this time, so there’s not much there for her. He smiles and plays with her little fingers while chatting with Marzia. Jack sees Anti out of the corner of his eye, briefly watching him from the doorframe and then disappearing again. After awhile, she says goodbye and Jack kisses the little girl’s forehead. The lady is sweet and he’s glad that he met her.

 

When he walks into their bedroom, he puts the black ring back on his finger, and spots Anti near one of their bedroom windows. His arms are crossed over his chest and he’s sitting on the edge of the windowsill. Jack sighs and walks up to him, asking what is on his mind this time. The green-haired man looks at him, scowling.

 

“I can’t give you that,” he murmurs.

 

“Give me what?” Jack knits his eyebrows and Anti looks towards the living room, where Marzia was. The Irishman scoffs. “A baby? Really, Anti? Really? No shit.”

 

“You know what I meant.”

 

It’s silent and Jack takes a deep breath, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Yeah, I know… And it’d be really fucked up, okay? We don’t have a normal life, in case you didn’t notice. We have talked about this before.” He moves closer to touch Anti’s hair, cupping his face. “I don’t want that. I’m okay with just… us. Trust me. You’re my pretty assassin.”

 

“I’m your what?”

 

“Shut up,” Jack shakes his head, regretting his own words as well. He clicks his tongue, staring at his grumpy man. “Do you feel like practicing? Letting off some steam...”

 

Anti blinks and takes a deep breath, nodding, and they move to be in the middle of the room. They stretch their arms and take off their shirts, wearing only pants and boots. Jack’s necklace stays and he feels the cool bullet resting on his chest. They lock their gaze and the Irishman’s raises his hands, clenching them into fists. Anti’s posture is steadier than Jack’s and the boy launches forward, going for the man’s stomach. The hitman blocks his hit and Jack tries again, huffing. The green-haired man has been teaching Jack how to fight for a couple of months now, showing how to defend himself. The Irishman is still clumsy and they don’t hit each other with full strength, only brief and very light impacts that won’t cause any serious damage. Anti makes sure to barely touch him and Jack feels the gush of air when he aims at his shoulder. This time, they quicken their pace and their breathing gets heavier. The Irishman manages to block a few kicks but Anti smirks and ducks, swinging his right leg to drop Jack onto the floor. The brown-haired man yelps and falls on his butt, wincing.

 

Jack groans and gets up as fast as he can, running towards Anti. The hitman is serious, focused, and he keeps pushing the boy. The Irishman feels frustrated, knowing that he has to make Anti fall. They duck their hits and block, hearts racing and eyes wide open. Anti shoves Jack back, telling him to hit harder, and the boy glares. They walk in circles, watching the other for the next movement, and Jack has to act quick. He aims for Anti’s face but the hitman grabs his wrist and turns him around, back resting against his chest. The green-haired man locks an arm around Jack’s throat, pinning him against his body, and the Irishman squirms. He adds pressure, wanting the boy to get away from his hold. Jack sucks in air and Anti twists his other arm behind his back, urging him to do something.

 

“A-Ah, i-it hurts! It hurts!” Jack shouts and Anti immediately apologizes, releasing the boy.

 

The Irishman smirks and kicks the hitman’s side with his elbow, turning over to wrap his arms around Anti’s waist and launch them forward. They fall to the ground with a loud thud, Jack on top of him, and he quickly moves his hand down to his boot, taking the pocket knife he kept hidden there. He flicks it open and aims it right at Anti’s throat, pinning him down. They gasp and the green-haired man knits his eyebrows, looking up at Jack. They have a thin layer of sweat and their hair covers their flushed faces. Their chests move up and down rapidly and Anti licks his lips, opening his mouth to speak.

 

“You cheated,” he breathes. “I can’t believe you fucking cheated. I thought I was hurting you.” Jack giggles and Anti shakes his head, not actually mad. “Unbelievable.”

 

“You like that, baby. Don’t lie,” the brown-haired man murmurs with a smile.

 

He stares at the man’s throat and adds pressure on the knife, making a small cut on Anti’s skin. The hitman makes a face, a thin red line streaming down his neck. The Irishman leans down to lick it, tasting sweat mixed with a bit of blood. He hums and focuses on a hickey there, making Anti sigh and stare at the ceiling. Jack marks him with his mouth and the hitman moans when they kiss. He sucks Anti’s bottom lip and they grin between chaste kisses. They catch their breaths and Anti pushes strands of hair away from Jack’s face, looking at him through half-lidded eyes. He sighs and moves to get up, stretching his back and walking towards his jacket over the bed. Jack stands up as well, placing the knife in his pocket, and watches Anti take a cigarette from the jacket, placing it between his lips. He lights it with a match and the smell of tobacco feels the air.

 

Anti murmurs that he received a call while Jack was chatting with his friend, saying he has a new errand and that he’ll have to go tonight. The brown-haired man purses his lips but nods, moving closer to wrap his arms around Anti’s waist. The hitman hugs him back and kisses his forehead. Jack asks how long he will be gone and Anti doesn’t know for sure. Perhaps just a couple of days. Nothing much. The brown-haired man nods once more and he’s getting used to this. They’re getting used to each other in a new way. There’s trust and more patience. Jack moves just enough to stare at the hitman’s green eyes and he sighs. Anti will always go with a piece of the boy’s heart, promising to return it. They stay quiet, sharing a cigarette while admiring one another and tightening their hold. They breathe and their hearts beat in sync, green meeting blue.

 

Jack waits, knowing that his hitman will always come back to him.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, i want to thank everyone that came across this story and took their time to read this, to comment, to be here. This has been incredible and when I wrote the last words of this chapter, I feel pretty sad hahah. It’s a mix of satisfaction but sad that it’s over. I really hope you guys enjoyed this! NG will have a place in my heart. It’s not perfect but I never thought I could write something like this, something this long as well. I still have some little ideas in my mind regarding this universe but I don’t want to make any promises. I am currently finishing a new one-shot, a new small AU that I hope you guys like it too! So perhaps, after that, I can organize myself better. I have lots of ideas that I’ll like to try. I absolutely love these boys and I wanna try exploring more of them. The response that came after this was so amazing and it warms my heart. Thank you so much! Stay tuned! ♥
> 
> Oh, I also drew some sketches of them that you can find [here.](http://strawberry-soo.tumblr.com/post/170230091394)  
> [buy me a coffee?](https://ko-fi.com/sparklepines)  
> [playlist](https://open.spotify.com/user/marvelsoo/playlist/02R9IwR338m2qvgRAlkTvn)  
> [storyboard](https://br.pinterest.com/sparklepines/anti-character-design/narcissus-gaze/)  
> [my tumblr](http://strawberry-soo.tumblr.com/)  
> 


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